


Sunset and Evening Star

by ShadesOfMauve



Series: Stars [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Humor, Mass Effect 3, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 107,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfMauve/pseuds/ShadesOfMauve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How ME3 might have happened if they'd stuck with the themes presented in the first two games, as perceived by This Arrogant Author. Featuring Rhi Shepard (still quite enamored of her pilot), and the expected host of allies, partners in crime, and assorted hangers-on. A sequel to A Star to Steer Her By.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Rhiannon Shepard.”

“Yes.”

The major said her name crisply, without hint of emotion, as he had the last time they’d done this dance, and the time before that. The room was the same, too: gray walls, gray carpet, no windows. Hard plastic seats for her questioners; none for her.

The uniformed batarian sitting with the Alliance team was new, and all four eyes were narrowed to dark, gleaming slits. They narrowed further at the sound of her name.

“Shepard,” he growled. “I’d introduce myself, but we probably all look the same to you.”

 _No_ , she thought, _I’ve killed too many of you for you to look alike._

She said nothing.

One of the humans, a man wearing the insignia of Alliance Intelligence, shot a cool glance at the batarian. “Pertinent questions only, Respected Observer.” He turned back to Shepard, and asked in a bored tone, “Why did you go to the Bahak system?”

She clasped her hands together behind her back in a parade rest, feet evenly spaced on the floor, gaze steadily over the intelligence operative’s shoulder. The wrist cuffs clinked together when she shifted, buzzing a little as their electrical fields came into contact.

“To extract an Alliance researcher from a batarian prison on Aratoht.”

The intel guys had heard this before, twice on the ride from the Normandy to… wherever ‘here’ was — and twice since.

“And you found the researcher— a Dr. Kenson?”

“Yes.”

“What had she been researching?”

“A reaper artifact. She said she had evidence of imminent invasion.”

“Reapers,” the batarian sneered.

The intelligence man raised an eyebrow, then turned back to Shepard. “Where did you go when you left Aratoht?”

“Dr. Kenson's research station, on an asteroid in the same system. The doctor told me that she'd determined the time until the reapers arrived in Bahak, and use the system relay to access the rest of the network. I went to her station to examine her evidence. Her team had rigged the asteroid with eezo propulsion and guidance systems, with the intent to crash it into the relay before the reapers could use it."

The batarian looked up, his voice ice. “Did you know that destroying the relay would kill everyone in the system? Including 300,000 of my people living on Aratoht?”

“Dr. Kenson said it was a possibility.” She kept her voice neutral. “Mass Relays are not my area of expertise.”

"What did you find at the base?"

"The researchers had all spent a great deal of time in proximity to the artifact, Object Rho. They no longer wished to stop the Reapers — they'd turned off the engines without completing the burn. They attacked me, and eventually drugged me unconscious. I was out for fourty-eight point five hours, by my omnitool clock.”

She didn't mention that she'd already been knocked flat on her ass by the visions screaming into her head from the artifact, vast fleets of ships bigger than anything the Alliance had ever fielded, the red and orange of fire, the screams of dying planets. Object Rho had indoctrinated the research team, but to her it had shouted 'doom.'

Military interogators didn't like to hear about visions.

The questions continued. “And when you woke up?”

“I escaped.”

The batarian snorted. “Drugged? Unarmed? Hmph. Unlikely.”

She'd already admitted to breaking someone out of a batarian high-security prison. Compared to that, an Alliance research station had been easy. “I’m an Alliance marine. Special forces. And Council Spectre.” She kept her voice flat. “I escaped.”

One of the humans nodded, and the batarian let it go.

“Escaped, and?”

“I killed them.” She met their eyes levelly. “And I started the engines back up.”

———

———

 _After all your years of service, the Alliance puts you right back where they found you. Jailed and starving_.

It had been six days since the last round of questions, as near as she could tell with no natural light. Six days without any contact except for the silent guard bringing her meagre ration. Six days without the sky, or the stars. Her moods swung viciously with her low blood-sugar, each sweep lower than the last.

Being alone made it infinitely worse.

She'd never been good at being alone. She defined her home with people. She collected them, made them hers. Did they know how much they'd stripped from her when they took away her radio? She wanted sound, contact, people she knew. Most of all she wanted to hear Joker, even though he'd be angry, maybe especially because he'd be angry. She'd thought turning herself in was the right thing to do; he hadn't.

She wished she could tell him he’d been right, and see his smug expression when she did.

 _Does everyone imprisoned for suspected genocide get solitary?_ Most of them committed their crimes from behind a desk. A clean uniform, a nice office, a home to go to after you’d signed the orders consigning whole peoples to death. No mud on your hands, no blood on your hands. No sweat. No split-second decision making, will-I-won’t-I, what can I do, only me, here, _now_. Genocide was a crime of forethought; of planning. They called the perpetrators ‘architects,’ and someone else did their labor. Not her. She’d done it all; everything except the planning. The plan had always been Hackett’s, and it had been abandoned in the rush of a too rapidly changing situation.

The final call had been hers, and she’d made it without a second thought, only a curse when the evacuation alerts she’d tried to send had failed.

She’d thought she was going to die then. Alone.  _Everyone dies alone_. Who had said that? She remembered calling for the _Normandy_ , sure it could never arrive in time, but wanting Joker’s voice on her radio, a connection to push away the solitude. Wishing she could go out fighting, with her blood running high, instead of waiting. Waiting, watching, while the asteroid she rode hurtled towards a mass relay to set off an explosion that would doom an entire star system.

Waiting was the most deadly thing she’d ever done.

She remembered thinking _at least this time it won’t be cold_.

She’d been wrong, of course. Joker was there, as he always had been, risking himself and the ship to whisk her away to safety beyond the relay.

Safety three hundred thousand batarians would never reach.

One inhabited planet was a small price to pay to hold back the reapers.

———

She paced in her cell.

Three meters.

Turn the corner.

Two meters.

Corner. Three. Corner. Two. Three. Two.

It made the small space feel even more cramped, but it helped her keep her mind off her stomach, twisting with hunger pangs. Gave her the illusion of control.

She’d spent an hour on stretches; another on calisthenics, bare feet battered by the cement floor. Now there was nothing to do but pace, and think. Bare feet on the cold floor, the prisoner’s jumpsuit rustling as she moved.

She had to shorten her stride on the short side of the cell.

She was still pacing when the guards came for her. New ones, heavily armed. She almost laughed at the lengths they’d gone to prepare: six guards in body-armor, with stun guns and truncheons, to stand up to unamped, unarmed her. She thought about telling them not to worry, that she didn’t have any asteroids handy, but that was too macabre a joke even for her, so she accepted her manacles and followed in silence.

She couldn’t even stretch her legs properly before they lead her into another cell, this one decorated, incongruously, with a barber’s chair.

She sat, watching the manacles affix themselves to the chair’s arms at a gesture from the warden. Scissors snicked through her hair, heavy dark locks falling to the ground, leaving her feeling oddly light. There was no pattern to the cuts; just quick efficiency.

She flicked her eyes sideways and saw the barber reach for a razor.

That was too much.

_Back where they found you._

Her life was rewinding, spinning backwards, undoing everything she'd achieved. Now they'd take her hair, and she really would be back at the start; shaven, starving, alone. Powerless in a cell. No ship, no crew, no friends. No way to fight. No say in her future.

No chance to enlist for a fresh start, this time.

She pulled with all her will at her biotics, head pounding as she tried to pull power without an amp or physical gesture.

There was a tiny flicker of blue.

The razor flew out of the man's hand and embedded itself in the wall.

She sank against the chair, spent, and the orderly picked up another razor from the table and started to shave.

———

The next day, they showed up with a med tech, a batarian observer, and a biotics expert. The guards made her kneel while they slid the inhibitor into the implant at the base of her skull.

It felt like fingers crawling through her brain, leaving numbness where they touched.

———

_Pull it together._

The air was cool on her shaven head, and she clasped her hands behind her back to keep herself from touching the skin there, or prodding at the smooth surface of the biotic inhibitor nestled against the base of her skull.

_Ignore it._

The problem was, there wasn’t much else to _do_.

_This isn’t forever. It doesn’t change me._

She grasped at the scraps of herself.

She was Rhi Shepard, a marine, and a damn good one. One-time commander of the _Normandy_ , in both its incarnations.

 _And both of mine. Heh_.

Wrex and Tali's friend. Nessie's almost-sister. Jeff Moreau's lover.

_You’re not the scared kid on the street anymore._

_Keep it together, marine._

The cell felt the same, though.

_You trained for this._

_No._

_I trained for being captured by the enemy._

_We never trained for being captured by our friends._

———

When Geltz showed up outside her cell, she almost thought he was another vision from her past. The first familiar face she’d seen in days — weeks? It was hard to believe he was real, not a remembered figment from when she was sixteen, but gray was creeping into his thick black hair, and new lines crawling over olive skin.

When she approached the plas-glas she could look down on him, but she’d always been able to do that.

Her gut roiled with mixed emotion; relief at a familiar face, _any_ familiar face, mixed with the bile of betrayal.

She’d tried to contact him, back when she was trying to put her life back together. It had been a hard message to write, but she’d _tried_ , reaching out through the dark to the man who’d pulled her off the street, who’d always had faith in her.

He’d never responded.

Another part of the Alliance, eager to help her when she was useful and quick to ignore her.

_Why are you here now?_

"Shepard.”

“Geltz.”

“Madre de dios, but it took me ages to talk my way down here.” He looked sorrowful; there were new lines around his eyes. “And I’m sorry I didn't reply to your message, those months ago. Things were... tricky, at the time. I couldn't be seen to have any contact with Cerberus."

She hadn’t expected an apology. She wasn’t _ready_ for an apology.

“Oh, sure. Had to keep me at arm’s length because of _Cerberus_." She spat the word. "Terrorists. Racists. Scum of the earth. But the _Alliance_ are the ones sent me to commit genocide."

He stepped close to the glass. "Keep your mouth _shut_ , Shepard! Don't say things like that!"

"Why fucking bother?" She turned away. "We both know how it has to end. Letting me go free would require admitting that I've been right about the reaper threat for years. Admitting that would mean admitting that some very important people were _wrong_." Her hands shook with rage and exhaustion. She was cold, too, shivering, the air chill against her bare scalp. She hadn’t realized she was so cold.

"It would be easier if it didn't mean admitting that Cerberus was right about something, too."

"Is that really so damn hard? Stopped clocks and all that bullshit. At least the Illusive Man had the sense never to put me in the position that _Hackett_ did." The name was a curse. She'd _respected_ Hackett. She’d agreed to his favor so blithely; she’d been pleased to work for someone she could trust, instead of the Cerberus bastard. _Someone I_ thought _I could trust._

She tried to remind herself that Hackett hadn’t lied. _He was just wrong. What’s the difference, when the fire starts?_

"Rhiannon, _please_. Complementing the Illusive Man isn't going to win you any points, either!"

" _Compliment_ him?" She stuck her fingers through the holes in the plasglass, pulling herself close to glare into his eyes, and hissed, "If I wasn't in here, _the Illusive Man would be dead_."

"Shepard." His voice was a shocked whisper. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

Her stomach was cramped with hunger, and her hands shook with the desire to hit something. _Trapped and alone_. "If the Alliance wanted their good little toy soldier, maybe they shouldn't have broken it." It came out as an almost manic sing-song. "This is why we can't have nice things."

Her old mentor was staring at her as if she were a stranger.

She stepped back from the glass, growling.

His gaze followed her, eyes narrowed, then dropped to the place where she'd neatly wadded up the morning's ration wrapper in the plastic cup.

"What are they feeding you?"

"1500 calories a day." Standard intake for a female desk jockey; starvation rations for a tall, heavily-muscled biotic. She leaned back against the wall, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“Jesus Christ.” Geltz looked angry, and not at her. "Jesus fucking _Christ_.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I'll see what I can do, Shepard. I have to figure out who signed off on that.” _And beat some sense into them_ , his tone implied.

Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders. Maybe there were still friends here. Of course she could trust Geltz. Couldn’t she?

_He used to let me hit him, as hard as I could, just because I was angry and confused and hormonal and he knew I needed something to hit._

Her memory supplied that feeling too easily; an out-of-control body, an abruptly changed life, the desire for a target. She’d already been taller than him, even half-starved as she was, but it hadn’t mattered. Geltz was the Alliance ranking hand-to-hand expert, and when he decided he’d had enough he put her on the ground — and then taught her how to block it, and how to counter. He was ridiculously over-qualified to be giving one-on-one instruction to a street brat who wasn’t even properly enlisted yet, but she hadn’t been aware of the honor at the time.

He’d been the one to bring her in. He’d tackled her in a hospital, dragged her kicking and clawing to a recruitment office, seen her implanted. He’d kept track of her through her deployments, during officer’s candidacy school, taken her to dinner when she learned she’d been tapped for Special Forces. He’d been the one to recommend her to Anderson, and eventually her berth on the _Normandy_.

He’d been thrilled when she made N7. He’d only gone to 5.

Geltz was the closest to family she’d ever had. She owed him an effort.

He was still staring at her, quiet.

She took a deep breath. “What,” she tried, “What’s going on? Out there?”

He jerked his head back towards the guard shadowing him. “It was all I could do to talk my way in here. I’ll give you more detail later if I can, but for now — you’re a political grenade with the pin pulled. No one can decide if they want responsibility for you or want to throw it to someone else. Everything is complicated beyond sense by your vanishing act three years ago. Anderson’s arguing for you, and he carries a lot of weight, but the brass are divided, and trying not to let the batarians or the Council realize it.” He shook his head. “You made one hell of a mess, kid.”

“Figured as much.” She didn’t ask about Jeff, or the ship. Better if no one knew what she thought was important. “And I didn’t ‘vanish’.”

He shot her a level look that meant she’d done something stupid and was about to reap the consequences. It had usually ended with her ass on the floor.

“I got blown out of a spaceship,” she said meekly. “There’s a difference.”

“And showed up working for the wrong team.”

“Only when I agreed with them. I _used_ Cerberus.” _And they used me._ She still didn’t like to talk about it, but she owed him. She swallowed.“It’s… hard to figure out quite what your options are, when, when you wake up missing two years, Alejandro.”

Another deep breath.

“I don’t know that I did everything right, but I tried. Did the work that needed doing. Sent back intel on Cerberus whenever I could. Stole their ship when it was all over.”

He just watched her. Maybe he was as confused as she was, inside.

She grinned weakly. “Think you and Anderson can get me dubbed a retroactive double agent?”

That startled a snort out of him.

She bit back the laughter that threatened to bubble out, utterly inane given the circumstances. Of course the Alliance couldn’t make such an absurd claim. If they had enough foresight to plant a spy by killing her, letting her corpse fall into the hands of a pseudo-terrorist group, and waiting for said pseudo-terrorist group to bring her back to life so that she could work for them, well... an organization with that kind of vision wouldn’t be playing a losing game against galactic chaos.

The guard, who had been waiting at a discreet distance, stepped up to Geltz’ shoulder. “Time’s up, sir.”

Geltz nodded. “Hang in there, Rhiannon. Don't dig yourself any deeper."

She watched him go until he passed beyond the security wall, leaving her alone once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some people might find small parts of this chapter quite disturbing, but I'm not sure how to warn for it, so: If you're likely to be unduly bothered by 'medical' procedures without consent, please read carefully.
> 
> (Everyone *should* be bothered, of course, but some people may require teddy bears or something on stand-by).

Joker's 'cell' was a small-but-serviceable. A narrow bunk, a hard chair, an empty desk -- more personal space than he’d had aboard the _Normandy_ in either of its incarnations. He could sleep without earplugs, and didn’t have to listen to Donnelly or Robson snoring. The lack of window bothered him, but he wasn’t in much of a position to complain. 

_Ayup. Look on the bright side. You’re held on suspicion of terrorism and they took the woman you love away in chains, but hey, no room-mates! Score!_

Black humor wasn’t quite the same as stoicism, but it’d do. If nothing else, he knew Shepard would be frickin' _furious_ if he let himself slip back into the grim depression he'd inhabited after her death. 

It was surprisingly comforting to think of her being angry at him. For one thing, for her to be angry at him properly they'd have to be able to _talk_ to each other.

He hadn't talked to her since Arcturus.

They'd planned to take the _Normandy_ to Earth. 'Show up on Earth, and show up in your dress blues', Hackett had told Shepard. He hadn't warned them about the Seize-And-Detain order in the Arcturus system. 

It had felt unfair, having her taken so soon. Arcturus or earth, it shouldn't matter, he’d tried to tell himself. What difference would a few more hours of travel time have made? But it still stung. There had been something noble about flying to Earth to turn themselves in. Stupid, yeah, but noble. Idiotic romantic heroism of the kind Rhi normally didn’t go in for. Having their ship boarded and being hauled off in cuffs had really destroyed the style of the whole thing, and style had been the only thing they had going for them at that point.

Even then, neither of them had suspected that he’d be arrested, too.

The Alliance had been slow to name Cerberus a terrorist organization, worried about the effect admitting to humanity’s darker parts might have on their fledgling galactic reputation, especially given the group’s former ties to Alliance black ops. Once they had a state-of-the-art frigate within their reach, that reluctance had disappeared. The official designation had come down while he and Shepard were incommunicado, in FTL to Arcturus. When the MPs arrived to take in Shepard, they’d also brought a prize crew, and the legal justification for the seizure of the _Normandy_ —and, incidentally, one Jeff Moreau, now officially an employed member of a recognized terrorist group, a switch of legal standing that had happened while he was sitting on his ass, watching one last shitty movie with his deadly war-hero/criminal girlfriend, who was eating all the popcorn.

He’d gone from ‘licensed civilian contract pilot’ to ‘terrorist’ with the stroke of a pen. He couldn’t even argue the change; they’d investigated Cerberus ‘research’ centers back when he was still Alliance, flying the first _Normandy_ , and Shepard had been one of the people arguing _for_ the label. Nothing he’d heard or seen since had convinced him otherwise. Cerberus were terrorists, all right — and more than terrorists; criminals in every conceivable possible way. The attacks on aliens that had earned them the designation didn’t even compare to the secret testing they’d done on their own kind. Cerberus was as bad as they came.

That didn’t mean _Shepard_ was, or the people who followed her. A fact he tried to explain every chance he got, which turned out to be pretty often. The Alliance brass didn’t have that much interest in him, exactly, but they made up for it with interest in his ship, in Cerberus, and in Shepard.

“It’s enough to make a guy feel unloved,” he said, the next time the woman taking notes asked about Rhi. _Shepard_ , he reminded himself. _Commander Shepard, to you._ Ex _-commander Shepard._

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“All these questions about the Illusive Man and Shepard. Never any about me. It’s like you realize that I’m _actually really boring_ and there’s no reason to be holding me here at all.”

His interrogator didn’t say anything. She was good, this one – she didn’t let anything slip, unlike some of her colleagues. He was pretty certain she was trained as a shrink, too. She was evaluating him, even if her questions were about other things. The only chink in her armor he’d found yet was when he’d joked that it was time for his daily questioning, and were they finally going to use the rack this time? She’d visibly winced. She clearly didn’t approve of torture.

_Hooray for small mercies_.

They hadn't been totally unprepared for this. EDI had artfully reshuffled almost a years' worth of internal surveillance records to make them fit for official Alliance consumption. All hints of the true extent of his relationship with Shepard were gone, snippets of vid and audio replaced with loops of empty hallways and routine maintenance tasks.

The hardest part had been determining what to leave. Just like the hardest part of talking with the shrinks was deciding what to tell. He'd realized early on that he couldn't go too easy on Shepard. If he kept insisting that everything had been _normal_ they'd either think he was lying or she was a freak. She'd come back from the dead after two years. Acting normal after that would have been really freakin' _strange_. But in his head all of those early personal conversations, all the anger and confusion, the drinking that had marred the first weeks of her new life… it was all private, personal, things she’d shared with him and no one else. 

And somehow it all lead inexorably to her kissing him in her quarters.

_That never happened_ , he told himself. Those records had been wiped.

Not _this_ record, though.

"What can you tell me about this video, Mr. Moreau?"

He watched it play out, low-res footage from a monitor in the observation lounge, almost a year old. Rhi's scars hadn't yet closed all the way, and they glowed with an eerie red light. She stood silhouetted against a window, looking rather less striking than usual from the camera's fish-eye perspective. He stood near the door, looking small and… _shit_. He hadn't realized he'd looked so terrified.

His arm was in a brace. She'd broken it the night before.

"She – Shepard – was scared." She'd hate having her weaknesses so clearly stated almost as much as she hated having them, but weaknesses made them human. Perfect people didn't pass psych evals. "She… she said she remembered dying. It gave her spacer's agoraphobia, I think."

"Mm. And can you confirm that this was taken the day after a social gathering in the commander's quarters?"

"Yes." She'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. It had only been the second time she'd touched him. "That's when my arm – that's when she broke my arm."

"Mm, yes. And the log of that event is strangely absent – as are most records of events in Shepard's quarters."

_Dammit, what are you digging for_? His own guilt kept pulling at him, convincing him that they knew, that they were just trying to give him enough rope to hang himself – which was stupid, because he hadn't been Alliance personnel at the time, so whatever he and Shepard had done wasn't fraternization and certainly wasn't any of their business. _You’re paranoid_. He felt naked without a hat, and hoped his confusion didn’t show on his face. "Shepard sabotaged the pick-ups. Early on, I think. She didn't like Cerberus watching everything."

The analyst nodded and made a mark on her notepad. "She _told_ you that?"

"Uh – about not liking Cerberus, or sabotage?"

The analyst just looked at him.

"'Cause, I think she told everybody about Cerberus – including them. At length. And the bugs came up a few times…" he racked his brain. "Oh, maybe at that party, I think."

"What happened at the party?"

_Good lord. What did happen at the party? Who remembered details like that?_ "Uh... it was low key. Just talking. Telling stories, catching up. It was almost a year ago; I don’t remember exactly."

“‘We’ – that would be the turian Garrus Vakarian, yourself, Shepard, and doctor Karin Chakwas?”

Had Tali been there too? It wouldn’t be good to get tripped up on something so stupid. No, that was before she’d rejoined the crew. “Yup, just us. People who’d been together on the SR1.”

She nodded and tapped the controls, pulling up another bit of year-old archived vid. 

Joker winced, but watched, dutifully.

He didn't like the vid. It was bad enough to see himself on screen. His self-image never quite matched the reality, and the reality was… disappointing. A harsh reminder of how others must see him all the time. He was at _least_ an inch taller in his head, for one thing. 

What was worse was seeing Rhi as she'd been then, and not being able to go back in time and _do_ anything about it. He'd known she was struggling, but he hadn't realized the extent at the time. She'd still been his commander, usually distant. Now he knew her so much better, he could look at that old vid and see how much she'd been hurting, the frustration bleeding around the edges of the mask. He wondered if the shrink could see it.

He wanted to watch more recent footage – to see her in action, full of life and adrenaline, or relaxed and happy. He wished EDI hadn't kept to her word, and he could look at vid of her sleeping in his arms, or laughing about something stupid. Flying carrots around on a fork, pretending they were collector ships. Seeing her back then, struggling to live the life she’d been brought back to, just made him afraid for her in a way he hadn't been before.

"It's an Alliance prison, not a batarian slave camp," Rhi had said, while they waited for the MPs to dock and take her away. But that didn't mean she was doing okay _right now_.

———

Days went by before Rhi saw Geltz’s promised rations. Instead of food came a swarm of medics and their accompanying guard, who ushered her into yet another identical cell and strapped her into yet another chair. 

She started preparing for pain; taking deep, even breaths, making a space to go away inside her head, but all they wanted was blood. Rather a lot of blood, drawn off into vials whose labels she couldn’t read. _Not medics. Researchers_.

She’d no idea what they were looking for, and they weren’t telling. They’d already taken a new DNA print, and as far as she knew there was nothing strange about her blood that wasn’t put there by an official Alliance gene mod – the standard package most marines had. She was hustled into a portable diagnostic imager, then back to her cell. 

The tiny glass of orange juice they gave her to make up for the fluid loss tasted like heaven. She wanted six more.

The impersonal efficiency of the researchers made her feel almost as if Geltz had never come. Like the orange juice, it had been just enough to remind her of what she was missing. She was still slipping, and she knew it. One visit from an old friend wasn’t enough to counter starvation and isolation – but two days later the _actual_ medics came, and made tutt-tutting noises at the guard, the warden, and her (as if she’d had any choice about anything) while they examined her with omni tools. 

That night, her ration was doubled, and she slept well for the first time since she’d turned herself in.

———

It was EDI who rescued Joker from his incarcerated tedium. At first he assumed the alliance intel people had just gotten as tired of him as he was of them, but then he was told he was getting assigned (dragooned? conscripted? what did they call convict labor?) into the _Normandy_ refit project. That didn’t make a damn bit of sense. He was a pilot, not a mechanic. 

It continued to not-make-sense until he walked onto the _Normandy_ again and was confronted by a red-faced engineer who practically wailed “YOU! You should be able to talk to this damned VI!” 

That still didn’t make sense, actually, but at least it told him that EDI was behind it all. 

From a small speaker above them, EDI said “Voice print not recognized. I’m sorry; I cannot respond to your commands.”

“And MAKE IT STOP DOING THAT!” 

Joker took an involuntary step back at the force of the man’s shout, and almost tripped over the two marine privates who’d been tasked with preventing his dangerous terrorist escape.

“Doing what?”

“Not only is it unresponsive to anything useful, _every damn time_ anyone so much as _mentions_ that V ahh – ahem, highly complex computer program, it plays the same message! Everywhere on the ship!”

The engineer cast his eyes heavenward, and Joker realized he wasn’t just shouting out of frustration. He was also wearing earplugs. As were the three juniors hard at work behind him.

“Um, EDI?”

“Senior Helmsman Jeffrey Moreau, recognized.” The artificially produced voice had a decidedly happier tone to it. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

“Careful, you’re milking it,” he whispered under his breath. EDI’s receivers were scarily good; they’d pick it up. In a normal voice he added “Uh, stop playing automated security message 1-3-9-2-b, would you? You’re driving people nuts.” _Numbers make stuff sound official, right?_

“Understood, sir.”

The harried engineer practically fell on Joker’s feet in gratitude, and rushing techs soon provided Joker with a chair and a (highly monitored) system interface, in an unfinished space near what had been the armory. 

“I could hug you, EDI,” he said.

“No, you couldn’t. ‘I’ am intangible. And the computer banks housing my main processes are too large to be easily encompassed by your arms. However, I understand that the intent is approbatory. Thank you.”

He shook his head and smiled for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t the helm, but it was a damn good start.

———

The next time the researchers came to Shepard’s cell, they wanted more than blood and scans. Fed and rested, she was ready for them; cool, stoic, unmovable. Back to a chair again; strapped in, again. They injected a local anesthetic, and then the scalpel split the skin, following a track that the Cerberus resurrection process had left, the thin scar pale against her brown forearm. 

She looked away, but caught a thin gleam of silver amid the red. She didn’t know whether it was a tool, or _her._

The techs spoke only briefly to each other, and never to her, everything couched in so much medical jargon that she only understood one word in three. Upgrades to ligaments and tendons; something about muscle fiber. Special alloys and a biochemical whazzit. 

Soon the pain seeped back in, first as a half-numb queasy feeling, then the the sting and burn of tools and fingers on raw flesh. She could have breathed through it, called on the anti-interrogation training she’d never really had cause to use… but what would be the point? Instead, she announced that the local had worn off several minutes ago, and she was going to have a hard time keeping still.

One of the techs had the decency to look appalled; the others were just excited about her abnormally fast drug response. 

_They’ll want to test that now, too_. 

Another drug was administered, and the sick-numb feeling came creeping back, bringing with it a mind-dulling fog. When it cleared, she was back in her cell, arm neatly sutured and sealed with a strip of medigel. She examined the incision, flexing the muscles in her forearm to make sure it wouldn’t break, and started a set of crunches.

The silent treatment of the researchers, cutting on her without her permission – that was supposed to break her, but it wasn’t going to. She wouldn’t let it. She had work to do. 

There were still reapers to fight, after all.

Preparing for the worst was useless, so she worked under the assumption that they’d let her out eventually, and she needed to be ready. Her body was the only weapon available to her in the cell, and she honed it. The reapers were out there. 

Her crew was out there, too, scattered to the edges of the galaxy and hopefully keeping off the radar of both the Alliance and Cerberus, waiting to be useful again. Just like she was. She thought about them instead of the impersonal researchers or the silent guards: Chakwas, who patched people up with a combination of dry humor and scolding; Tali, who’d grown up so damn much, who was probably advising the quarian flotilla right now; Garrus, who’d gone back to his government, presumably in better straits than she had hers. Joker. 

They were all just waiting.

_It will happen._

After a length of time measured only in sleep, meals and the occasional visits of the curious wanting to cut her open or scan a new bit of her cybernetic insides, Geltz returned. He looked even more harried than before. 

“D’you have enough food, now?”

She nodded.

“Good. You do look better.” He smiled. “Sorry it took so long to sort out.”

“Only a few days.” She’d had the food long enough to get used to it, but she’d missed seeing a friendly face. “Could’ve done with another visit, though. I realize I wasn’t the best company when you were down here before, but you could at least’ve come for the view.” She gestured at the cement-and-tile walls.

Geltz winced. “Wish I could’ve, but Anderson and I’ve been fighting for you, and your position is precarious enough without giving them grounds to ask about my ‘emotional involvement.’ As for the short rations, the solitary…” He scowled, gesturing his frustration. “Some of these assh – perdón, _diplomatic-types_ want to ‘appease’ the batarians by making a show of hard treatment. Only some of ‘em are more into the ‘show’ part than others. Everything’s supposed to have been okayed by the brass Ethics Counsel — yeah, you’re a thorn in the side of some really important people right now, lucky you — but it turns out the bit they okayed used some pretty vague language.” 

He grinned. “I managed to convince certain parties to interpret it differently.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope you got a secretary in a headlock?”

“Jesús, no, I’ve gotten old and embedded in politics, Rhiannon.” He snorted. “I’ve been arguing it won’t do the Alliance any good to have you looking like you’d been abused. Can’t have that crap on our image.”

Did he know about the medical tests? If he did, he couldn’t do anything about them. _If he didn’t know… better he doesn’t know_. Water under the bridge.

“If you’re worrying about appearances, does that mean they’re going to let me outta here? Take me for a walk around the block, maybe?” Anything to leave her isolated little hell. 

“The hearing’s in five days.”

She started. Five days; a measurement of time, a promise for the future. An acknowledgment that there _wa_ s a future.

Geltz misjudge the reason for her reaction. “It’s only preliminary. From what I gather the Powers That Be are still trying to figure out jurisdiction. We’ve got, last time I asked, Alliance Mil, Alliance Civ, and the Batarian Hegemony all asking for you, and the Citadel Council going back and forth on whether it wants your or not – a position they feel _very strongly about_ , whichever direction they happen to be leaning at the time.”

“It’s so nice to be wanted,” she murmured.

He scowled. “Not for what you’ve done.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “Is there anything I should know before the hearing? Not that I have a whole lot to get ready...” she gestured to her empty cell.

“Not much. You will have counsel – everyone but the batarians agreed on that – but I doubt they’ll ask you much. Just deciding jurisdiction, remember.”

“Right. So… Batarians, Council, Alliance command, Alliance senate… who I should be rooting for, here?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing _not_ the batarians.”

He stepped close to the grill, thick fingers clenching through the holes in the plastic. “The Alliance, Rhiannon. Always the Alliance. You’re a marine. You’ll be a marine whatever label the Citadel Council sticks on you.” He squeezed the grill in emphasis. “Just make it through the hearing. We’re gonna win this thing, and then we’ll be able to get you out of this place. We take care of our own.”

———

The shipyard where the _Normandy_ was berthed had worker housing, presumably to save temps and specialist the absurd cost of living in the Vancouver area. Joker exchanged his cell for a room not too much bigger that reminded him of his dorm in flight school. He wasn’t allowed to converse with the legitimate repair yard hands, but apparently no one wanted to give him special treatment either, so he took his meals in the dock workers’ cafeteria; a dingy, depressing room that smelled of over-warmed grease and despair.

(So he was a bit melodramatic. So sue him).

The watchful glare of Marine Private Campbell dogging his steps kept everyone else well away as he went through the chow line and headed for his usual solo table. Of course, the constant armed guard also attracted every curious eye in the room, but after a month or so the outright stares died down to the occasional furtive glance. 

As far as he knew, the staff who worked at the Abbotsford shipyard hadn’t been told anything about who he was, why he was a prisoner, or what he was there to do. From a few snippets of overheard conversation he’d gathered that the current theory was that he was a black-hat hacker who was serving out his sentence plugging security holes for the good guys. That was a common enough practice, and it explained both the guard (can’t let him too close to the security systems; who knows what he could do!) and his limp (sure, he’s a cripple, but it doesn’t matter if he just plays with computers, right?).

Sometimes he spun stories of his imaginary hacker alter-ego just to keep himself entertained. He’d probably hacked payroll – no, that was boring. The financial accounts of a gray market arms dealer; that was more the ticket. Or Alliance top secret intel. Much more glamorous.

He was in the cafeteria, spinning mental tales of his past hacking exploits, when he saw Shepard again for the first time in weeks.

The monitors around the room played the same pre-selected stations day and night; a monotonous, annoying drone. One for sports, one for news, and one, for some reason, old childrens' cartoons. Joker usually chose to face the cartoons. At least they were different from day to day – even if some things, like over-sized cartoon mallets, appeared to be enshrined in holy cartoon tradition.

Most days he wished for a cartoon mallet big enough to destroy all memories of the taste of required-daily-nutrient muck #3. He was steeling himself to force another bite down his throat when the room grew quiet. He set down the spoon, glad of the excuse, and twisted to see what everyone was staring at.

For a moment he couldn't tell what the fuss was about. A simultaneous roar from the sports program and KAPANG! from the cartoons momentarily drowned out the voice-over on the newscast, and the video showed only a dense crowd, civilian suits interspersed with blue Alliance uniforms.

Then the newscast switched cameras, and he saw Rhi.

She looked _wrong_. Her thick hair was shorn close to her scalp, face devoid of her customary makeup. Her posture was still marine-tall, but were her cheeks too gaunt, or was it just the severe haircut? 

The vid was shot from far off with a long zoom, distorting detail, and she kept disappearing between the heads of the crowd. He wanted to shout at the people in the vid to get out of the damn way, or leap up and shout her name, as if the TV was a comm channel. 

The cafeteria had gone quiet. Someone raising their voice in the far corner was shushed. Someone else finally found the volume control.

“…the famous – or infamous – Commander Shepard, leaving the courtroom now. No cameras were allowed inside, but our sources describe a tense discussion of jurisdiction,” the announcer paused, “…ending in favor of Alliance Military Command.”

There were scattered cheers from around the cafeteria, but Joker didn’t know whether it was good or bad. He hadn’t known that the jurisdiction was ever in question, or who would have decided Rhi’s fate if not Alliance Command. He didn’t know what the news had been saying, that a cafeteria full of dock hands was paying attention to the outcome. He didn’t know _anything_.

He didn’t know whether she was okay.


	3. Chapter 3

Kaidan watched the news on the interminable elevator ride up to the Citadel Presidium, his scowl so deep a salarian who got on in one of the wards took one look at him and walked right off again. In this human-dominated area of the Citadel the news channels were human, and the subject was Shepard.

As a hero, Shepard had been a blip in the news cycle; there wasn't much hay to be made from 'did my duty, glad to be of service to the Alliance.' They’d all posed for a holo or two after the defeat of Sovereign, but their fifteen seconds of fame was quickly over, replaced by scandal and politics and the latest vid stars.

As a disgrace, Shepard made far juicier meat, and the press were eating it up.

"We always knew she'd be trouble." The peroxide-blond woman's theatrical tears were smearing her makeup. "She ran away more than once. Got in fights."

Of all the painful, awkward ways the media had found to stir the cauldron after Aratoht, digging up one of Shepard's childhood foster families was definitely the worst. There had been other things that made Kaidan seethe, but this… this just made him feel awkward on behalf of everyone involved. 

He wasn’t sure what to think of Shepard anymore, but he was still willing to bet she’d _hate_ this. He hoped she never saw it. He wished _he_ could stop seeing it.

He shifted uncomfortably and wished the elevator ride would end.

One of the few bright spots in the coverage was Emily Wong. He’d met her back when they were hunting Saren; Shepard had helped her expose an organized crime syndicate on the Citadel. Wong gave time to the good, along with the bad; she was fair. She even aired clips of Khalisah Al Jilani's show.

Al Jilani had accosted Shepard shortly after she’d shown up on the radar again; the first reporter to capture vid of the supposedly-dead Spectre. Shepard's response to al Jilani's abrasive, manipulative questioning was everything anyone could ask for in a hero of the Alliance: forthright, empathic, moving. She gave no quarter and did the Alliance proud – _or would have, if she hadn't delivered that impressive speech while wearing a Cerberus uniform_. If she hadn't been supposed to be _dead_.

_If that's not enough to show how thoroughly the good is mixed with the bad, I don't know what is._

The clip summed up all Kaidan's confusion about Shepard. 

The elevator finally came to a halt, doors opening with a soft chime, and he stepped out into the promenade in front of Huerta Memorial Hospital. A short conversation with a receptionist, and he was on another elevator. That ride was quicker, depositing him in an upper story waiting area with a beautiful view of the presidium. 

Dr. Karin Chakwas, silver hair shining, strode forward to meet him.

"Kaidan." Just hearing her welcoming voice made him feel better. 

"When I found out you were working at Huerta I had to visit my favorite doctor."

"Flatterer." She took his arm, patted it, and lead him through a door marked ‘staff lounge.’ "Sit down, dear. Would you like some coffee? You seem tense."

He shrugged. “Oh, nothing, really. Just… saw some of the news on the way here. Stuff about Shepard.”

Chakwas’ lips thinned. “Horrible, isn’t it? I’ve been avoiding it.” She passed him a mug and sat opposite, concern creasing her forehead. 

“I suppose that’s smart. I should, but…” he hadn't meant his voice to betray his frustration. “Did you see the pictures from the hearing? They _shaved_ her _head_.”

“Pointless humiliation.” Chakwas made a sharp, angry gesture. “Shepard won't let it get to her.”

“And everyone else who sees it? Maybe you didn’t notice, but that shows off her biotic implant _really_ well. And the cameras just _loved_ the back of her head.” He grimaced. “It doesn't matter what her reasons were, or that she was never an L2. To the public she'll just be another crazy biotic, more proof that none of us can be trusted. ‘Just look at the hole in her head’.” 

He wished he could swallow the words as they left his mouth. His own bitterness surprised him. He’d been trying to ignore the looks he got from the non-biotic staffers. “Sorry, doc. You didn't need that.” He looked shamefully into his coffee cup.

“It’s quite alright, dear. Hearing that the vast majority of the populace are reactionary imbeciles is not precisely news.” She patted his arm again and sighed. “If they could’ve seen what we managed on that ship… well, maybe they’d have locked us all up, not just Shepard. Ha! Going to the center of the galaxy!”

“You were with them then? But how – why – I didn’t know.” He was too surprised for anything like tact. It felt like something he should have known – but that was irrational. He'd had no special clearance; no updates on Shepard's movements after he spoke with her on Horizon beyond the little he learned from Joker. He’d assumed the doctor was serving on some other ship. 

Chakwas had been back with Shepard, with Joker, and if rumors were right with Tali and Garrus too. It was like a party of old friends he hadn't been invited too. _Don't be ridiculous. That kind of thing happens when you're redeployed all the time_. But somehow the SR1 had been different. Maybe it had just been the magnitude of the threat they'd faced, but that team had been _special_. _Team Milky Way, saving the day_. 

"Sorry. I didn't know. I, uh, if I may ask – _why_?" 

Joker haring off to do something stupid he could understand. Joker’d been a wreck after the SR1 went down, and a few bad, life-changing decisions weren't surprising. But Chakwas had always seemed stable.

She smiled. "Shepard asked me the same thing, you know, and I don't think I had a good answer for her, either. There were so many things – I was worried about Jeff – " Chakwas always called Joker by his given name. She did it for most crew she’d shipped with long. Only Shepard was always Shepard. "And I was curious. They were very upfront about what they were attempting. I'm a doctor; how could I not want to see whether it would work? And then, of course…" she sighed. "The _Normandy_ SR1 wasn't just another posting. I don't know if it was the risk, or the ship, or Shepard, but it was special. I felt like I belonged there."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"So perhaps you understand. We were never a Cerberus crew, Kaidan. Even the operatives they'd placed aboard realized that at the end. I didn't worry about Cerberus, because I had faith in Shepard. Faith she earned, over and over. I still have – I may always have faith in Shepard."

 _But is she really Shepard?_ "Doc…" how could people not see why this was difficult to understand? "I saw her spaced."

"I know, dear. Though you didn't really see much... That was poor Jeff. And I suppose it all worked out well for him in the end."

Kaidan didn't see anything funny in that – as far as he knew Joker was still imprisoned by the Alliance – but the doctor seemed to find it amusing.

Finally he had to ask. "If you think she's really Shepard, then _what happened in the Bahak System_?"

Chakwas' face fell. "I don't know," she said. "I'd already left the ship by then. I’ve been wondering that same thing since I heard."

———

After five days of argument, the Alliance military won.

Instead of being marched back to her cell, Shepard was whisked into a high-security aircar and flown to CentCom, getting a better view of downtown Vancouver as a prisoner than she ever had when she’d lived there as a kid. There were still guards, of course – a squad of MPs lead by a musclebound young lieutenant with a mohawk, forming a living wall around her at every step – but the detention facility they lead her to looked more like Visiting Officers’ Quarters than a jail. 

For a while, in her cell, she’d thought she’d never want to be alone again, but the first thing she did when introduced to her new quarters was shut the bedroom door between herself and the guards. Then she crawled into the middle of the double bed, wrapped herself in every blanket there, and curled into the smallest ball she could.

The hearing would have been nerve-wracking enough if it had just been nitpicking legalese, but the fine points of law had all turned on whether she was actually _her_.

She pulled the blankets tighter. She hadn’t had blankets in her cell; the air was kept at a perfect human temperature, without little human comforts.

The Alliance case, at least, had hinged on arguing that she was truly herself. She’d feared they’d call her AWOL, or a turncoat, since there was no legal precedent for being out of commission due to your own death, but they’d come up with something that felt a lot closer to the truth.

Shepard, they claimed, had been a POW.

That left the little question of whether the Alliance could be at war with an organization they hadn’t officially recognized as terrorist at the time. The lawyers had argued that _obviously_ Cerberus had been hostile _because_ they’d captured Shepard, a bit of circular logic that occupied everyone for at least an hour, until Anderson stepped in and read from a report – one Rhi had filed herself – of Cerberus activities, dated before the Normandy SR1’s destruction. That set off a new fracas as council representatives and the batarian ambassador demanded to know why the Alliance hadn’t recognized Cerberus for what they were immediately, given the available intel – a digression which made the human politicians in the room look very uncomfortable, and was halted by the asari judge as irrelevant to Shepard’s case.

And all of that had been better than the arguments made by the _other_ sides.

The person sitting in the dock wasn’t Shepard. She was a clone. She was a re-animated corpse fitted with control circuitry. She’d faked her death, or she _was_ a fake. She couldn’t be Shepard, they argued, so “Shepard’s” former Alliance ties meant nothing. 

It had almost been a relief when one of the batarian delegation interrupted the proceedings by bellowing that he didn’t care who she was as long as she paid for her crimes. 

Rhi pulled the blankets more tightly around her. 

_It was all politics_ , she thought. _They said whatever they thought would help them win_. Whatever they really thought about her – if they really thought about her at all – might be totally different. 

And totally irrelevant.

 _She_ would keep living as Rhi Shepard, and fuck anyone who thought otherwise.

———

It took a month for the Powers That Be to relax enough to let Joker back into his seat at the helm. With the Normandy’s eezo core was offline he couldn’t actually do anything _piloty_ , but it was a definite improvement over a plastic chair in the gutted CIC with technicians tripping over him all the time. 

The techs themselves, like techs the galaxy over, had acclimated to his presence as soon as he started speaking their language. Within a week they’d started finding work for him to do; troubleshooting bugs in the guidance systems, chasing math problems through the nav computer, picking his brain on how the ship handled. Only his shadows, Privates Westmoreland and Campbell, seemed to remember that he was a Dangerous Prisoner. 

It was altogether better than being stuck in the brig – and still _totally horrible_. There were reapers out there, on their way, and the best ship and her pilot were drydocked. It was like waiting out a long FTL transit, but worse, because they _could_ have been doing something, but weren’t. _And in FTL you aren’t a big fat target_. 

He missed Rhi. He wanted to hear her boots on the deck plating, and turn to see her smile. To watch her eyes light up like a kid’s just because he’d made her dinner. To run his hands over her, smell her, hold her. To know she was alright. 

Sometimes it seemed like it was selfish to miss her, when he should be afraid for her, but he’d found he had ample room for both. 

EDI did her best to try to keep him entertained. They couldn’t speak much without breaking her ‘lowly VI’ cover – and hoo boy, _that_ was a riot, he swore she was hamming it up just to drive him nuts – but his guards never paid attention to what was flashing across his screen. Oh, they’d notice if it was _Galaxy of Fantasy_ or _SpaceCraft_ or something, but a line of text was a line of text. He and EDI spent a lot of time chatting – about past events, mutual friends, old movies, the mysteries of the human condition, when _not_ to use emoticons – all sorts of things. Sometimes they even talked about work. 

And EDI kept him up on what was going on outside.

EDI was first and foremost a state-of-the-art cyberwarfare machine, so when she hadn’t been able to manage a direct uplink through the shields of the secure hangar, she’d improvised. The techs would find their omnitools a little sluggish one day, and blame it on the most recent ‘security update.’ The chief’s personal datapad seemed to have a lot of extra lag lately, but, well, these new operating systems and their dead weight; what could you do? 

EDI piggy-backed signals through the personal electronics of the tech crew, and stitched together a view of the outside world. 

_I can’t believe any of us ever thought we had any privacy on this ship_. 

As long as her spying was working for him, he could hardly complain. Thanks to EDI, Joker had a better idea of where the _Normandy_ ’s repairs stood than the project boss, and he knew whenever anyone set foot on his ship – so he was prepared when Private Westmoreland almost choked in surprise, gasping out “Admiral!” and snapping into a terrified salute. 

Joker spun his chair around lazily, crossed his ankles, and said “S’up, Anderson?”

Joker had a lot of respect for Anderson, but it still rankled that the _Normandy_ was being tricked out for him. The SR1 had started out as Anderson’s ship, sure – but the SR2 had always been Shepard’s. And his. _Ours_.

The admiral had returned to active duty sometime in the last few months, leaving Udina in the Counselor’s seat, but this was the first time he’d come by. _Not a lot of use for admirals in the shipyard, getting their brass dirty talking to terrorists_.

Anderson ignored Joker’s insouciance. “How’s she doing?”

Joker raised his eyebrows. “Funny. I was going to ask the same thing.”

Anderson gave him a knowing look. “You’ve been here every day. Don’t tell me you don’t have an ear to the ground in this ship.”

 _Hell, cards on the table_. Anderson was a direct kind of guy; hopefully the promotion hadn’t changed that.“I didn’t mean the ship. I meant _Shepard_.”

Anderson jerked his head at Westmoreland and Campbell. “Take a walk.”

“But, sir –”

“Sir, I –”

“Yes, sir!” 

The privates complied, albeit with doubtful glances at Anderson and Joker.

“Wow,” Joker said, “they were awfully afraid of leaving you in here alone with little old me. Think of what I could do! Jeff Moreau, breakable pilot, against the famous N7 operative!” He shook his head. “Heh. Probably just wondering how many pieces you’d break me into.”

“After being assigned to _you_ for months, they were probably hoping for it. Can’t say I blame them.”

“Everyone has to have a hobby. It gets awful boring around here.” Joker shrugged. “So. How’s Shepard?”

Anderson’s shoulders slumped. “Better. It’s a god damn waste to keep her penned up, but at least it’s us doing the penning now. Kept her out of batarian hands.”

“She looked like hell at the trial.”

“It was only a hearing – and she did, damn it.” Anderson looked down at him. “You care.”

 _Oops._ Joker studiously inspected his boots. “I watched her die once. We’ve been to hell and back. Yeah. I care.”

“Good.”

 _That_ was a surprise. “Excuse me?”

Anderson squatted down, closer to Joker’s eye level. 

The gesture was so like Shepard that it hurt to watch. No one else did that. God, he missed her.

“Look, Moreau. I don’t know where you’ll be when this thing hits. I don’t know where I’ll be, where she’ll be. But it’s only a matter of time, and when it does, we have to be ready – wherever we are. I damn well expect Shepard to be fighting, and she needs people who care about her to back her up.” Anderson snorted. “And for what it’s worth, I hope you’re back at the helm of a ship. Even if you are an insubordinate jackass.”

“Especially because I’m an insubordinate jackass, I think you meant.”

“Stick to flying the ship.”

“As soon as you let me.”

“That may be sooner than either of us expect.”

Joker leaned back, getting himself a little space while his brain scrambled to parse that. “Look. You’re not that great at at subtlety, and I’m not that great at picking it up. How about you tell me what you mean? You’re talkin’ about Shepard fighting and me flying, and as far as I know we’re both under lock-and-key – maybe start with that.”

Anderson’s lip twitched. “Fair enough. All your interviews say you believe Shepard. About the reapers.”

Joker almost laughed. “I _shot_ one. And their goons shot me. Those aren’t the kind of things you forget.” He shrugged. “Of course, they didn’t believe her, and they definitely don’t believe me.”

Anderson shrugged. “You did fly for Cerberus.”

“First? They didn’t believe me _before_ that. And second, how many times do I have to explain? I flew for _Shepard_. And you didn’t seem to mind the whole ‘terrorist’ part when she met with you those times on the Citadel.”

“No.” Anderson sighed. “And I still don’t. But it would’ve made it easier for me if she hadn’t been wearing their damn uniform when she marched into the embassy.”

“It was all she _had._ ”

Anderson scowled. “Obviously it was hard for her –”

“No, I mean it was literally _all she had_.” Joker shook his head. This was getting off track, and he knew there was more important shit to deal with, but it made him so _angry_. “No one gets it. I was hired, right? It was through a front organization, and I didn’t know it was _Cerberus_ for awhile, but I had a contract and chance to store my kit and crap. Shepard _died_ , woke up in the middle of a freakin’ gun fight, and was dumped on the new _Normandy_. When I saw her walking again –” he started to choke up and gritted his teeth, hoping Anderson couldn’t hear it. “When I saw her, she had the armor on her back, plastered with Cerberus logos. And that was it. Whatever was on the ship.” He rolled his eyes. “Unless you really think it would’ve been a good idea to get dancewear on Omega before stopping at the Citadel.”

“No… you know, I think you’re right. We – I – really haven’t ‘gotten it.’” 

“I did answer all these questions at those endless psych evals. Whole truth and nothing but the truth, swear to god, cross my heart and hope to die, needles, eyes, etc.”

“You can’t deny it’s difficult to believe.” Anderson scowled. “Hell, I’m not sure believing it makes a difference. Look. Between you and me, we know damn well the reapers are on their way. Command has started to listen – even the council – but they’re starting too damn late. We don’t know when the attack will come, or where, but when it does, I need this ship in the air.” He looked at Joker meaningfully. “However ready she is, and whomever happens to be here to get her there.”

 _Oh_. Joker scrubbed a hand through his beard. Had Anderson really just suggested he abscond with the ship? What did that mean, anyway? Anderson wasn’t his commander anymore, so it wasn’t exactly an order. Was it mutiny, or treason?

One thing was crystal clear. _If a reaper attacks earth, I don’t want to be stuck on the ground_.

He met Anderson’s eyes. “Better put the fear of brass in the engineering team, then. Their last repairs are almost done – if they’d gotten a move on, she could’ve flown three days ago.”

———

The second thing Rhi did after being moved to Alliance quarters was ask after Joker. Her request for information on the whereabouts and well-being of one Jeff Moreau, former pilot of the _Normandy_ , resulted in the news that he was assisting with the retrofit of the _Alliance_ Normandy SR2 – news personally conveyed by admiral David Anderson, within 24 hours of her request.

“Are you charging him?”

Anderson shook his head. “It’s not the plan. We can’t just drop everything until media attention is off the whole mess, though. Being held without charges isn’t ideal –”

_That’s putting it mildly._

“– but it’s the best we could figure out under the circumstances. Your concern for your crew does you credit, Shepard. But Moreau’ll be fine.”

As far as Anderson could know, ‘concern for her crew’ was all it was. For Rhi, It was a weight off her heart. She’d imagined Jeff jailed as she had been, or already tried and found guilty, or, worst, just… _disappearing_. Knowing he was safe… that was huge. 

_We can deal with all the crap later. If there’s a later. If there’s still a ‘we’_ … she didn’t know how to deal with that possibility, so she shoved it aside. Jeff had stood with her when she was being taken away in cuffs; he wouldn’t… _no. Later. There’ll be a later._ She clung to that thought, wrapped herself in it, and refused to consider the alternatives.

She saw Anderson a handful of times that first week, before duty took him away from Vancouver. On his orders she attended briefings, reporting what she knew of the reaper threat. She still wore the insignia-less uniform of a prisoner, and was accompanied everywhere by her burly guard, but in the small, carefully orchestrated meetings Anderson summoned her to, people listened when she spoke. 

Then Anderson was called away to somewhere else. Without him kicking asses into gear, the reapers were just another hypothetical threat, too strange to be believed, too crazy to be imminent – and Shepard was just an awkward prisoner again, half a hero and half a villain, probably strange and crazy herself.

Her quarters were bigger than many she’d rated shipboard, with a view of downtown Vancouver she’d never dreamt of being able to afford. It might have been a swank, if small, apartment, if not for the guards posted day and night on both sides of her door. 

She didn’t mind too much. They never stepped away from the door, since they could see the whole living area without so much as turning a head, and they never bothered her. The team lead was the muscled-and-mohawked young lieutenant from the aircar ride. James Vega had a lot of energy, and she suspected not much patience – not the type _she’d_ have picked for guarding a prisoner – but he seemed like a nice enough kid.

 _He’s not your command, marine. No one wants your evaluation_. 

Still, when Geltz came to visit, the first thing she did was ask “Do they really think I couldn’t take him if I wanted to?”

Geltz chuckled. “He’s to keep others out as much as you in.”

“Really. Does the same go for the sniper they’ve got posted in the building across the street, trained on my window?”

Geltz raised an eyebrow.

“Omnitool flash. Sloppy.”

He gave her a wry look. “I’ll have a word with his superior.”

That was how it was, in her new limbo. She’d schooled one of her guards for his lax procedure, the other day. Granted, the look on his face when his prisoner dressed him down had been priceless, but as much glee as she took in that, it was a strange situation for all involved.

“What brings you here?”

Geltz smiled. “I thought you might want to hit the matts. Get some exercise. For old time’s sake.”

“If they’ll let me – hell, yeah. I’m going stir-crazy.” 

“I thought you might have a bit of aggressive energy to get out.”

“Let’s not talk about how much, or I’ll be right back in a cell.”

“I got you clearance to use the gym here on out, too. Under guard, of course, but it’ll get you out of this room.”

Vega fell in behind them on the way to the gym.

She hadn’t been grandstanding when she said she could take Vega. She’d watched how he moved, and she was willing to bet good credits the LT was a boxer by nature – he didn’t have the look of someone who’d gone through the deadly Alejandro Geltz school of winner-takes-all mixed martial arts. Geltz himself was a whole other matter. She might beat him with biotics, but not with the damned inhibitor in her neck. _And where would you go then? Ah, the freedom of the open hallway!_

To have half a chance, she’d have to be willing to kill Geltz. She didn’t want to escape that badly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to escape at all. 

What did she want? _I want to turn back time, stop the reapers,_ _and kick some politicians’ asses._

She wanted to _fight_.

Things would be clearer in the ring. They always were.

After stripping down to pants, tank top, and bare feet, they squared off. Suddenly she was right back to being a teen again – but this time in a _good_ way. Everything was _simple_.

_Finally, a dance I know._

Geltz was short, but he’d always been more than a match for her. He’d said more than once that she was hopeless, but since he didn’t even bother trying to train most green recruits, a ‘hopeless’ from him counted as praise. That had been years ago, but it didn’t matter. He was the lead unarmed combat instructor for Special Forces for a reason, and no matter how much she learned she was used to being schooled by Geltz.

But now she was stronger than him.

It was a strange thing to realize. He was still _better_ , of course, but Cerberus hadn’t been shy with the upgrades when they rebuilt her. Greater brute strength was only the beginning. Her joints were reinforced, too. Strains that should have broken ligaments or tendons did nothing. 

She pulled out of a lot of a joint lock, and watched Geltz realize something was wrong. Start to evaluate it. She wondered if that was why they’d sent him.

“Hmmph.” It could’ve been a breath exhalation, or a thinking-noise. She escaped the next lock, too, on the basis of upgrades rather than finesse. 

The third time she thought to rely on that, he was ready for it, and threw her halfway across the matt. 

She fell well and rolled to her feet, a grin on her face, and realized it was the first time she’d truly smiled in months.

The grin threatened to turn manic. 

Her hands were shaking.

She started to sink to her knees, signing for a time out. She dimly heard Geltz order the guard from the room. Then he was kneeling across from her, a hand on her shoulder while she shook with she-didn’t-know-what, pulling her gently forward until the top of her shorn head just rested on his shoulder.

It was the first kindly-meant physical contact she’d had in over a month. Coming from the undemonstrative Geltz, it was an outpouring of affection.

She was still shaking. _Stop, damn it, this is stupid, I don’t even know why I’m doing this_. She couldn’t seem to raise her eyes from the floor. She’d been happy, damn it. She’d felt _normal_.

“I, I d-don’t under-erstand –”

“Rhiannon.” His voice was low and calm, with the hint of the Spanish sing-song peeking through. “What you went through – what we _let_ you go through – was _torture_. It is not – you are not expected, I do not expect you to bounce back from that.” He sighed softly. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“T-to evaluate me. To see Cerberus m-made.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed, and he was quiet a moment. “First, they did not ‘make’ you. Second… anyone could do that. No. David and I talked. We wanted someone here that you knew. Someone you might – eventually – be able to trust, again. Because after torture, you must be let to heal.”

She crossed her hands under her chest. They were cold. She was never cold. “We were t-taught to withst-stand –”

“No. ‘Withstand’ is _not_ the same thing as ‘be unaffected by.’” She felt his head shake. “This we cannot teach you in Rio. You would have to become a computer.”

 _Like EDI_ , she thought inanely. _EDI wouldn’t mind. She’d do crosswords_.All _the crosswords._

The sound that came out was halfway between a giggle and a sob, and she clamped her mouth shut, cutting it off short.

“I have sent many, many young warriors into the field. You’re not the first student I’ve sat here for. Do _not_ think you are weak.” He sighed.  “Too many young warriors. But you are the first where it was supposed to be our own side.”

The catch in his voice surprised her out of her own misery. She looked up and saw a tear shining in a corner of his eye. She quickly looked down again, but it was enough to pull her out of herself. The uncontrollable shaking faded; she drew one long, ragged breath, then another.

She recognized how she felt, now. It wasn’t so different from those awful episodes after her revival, when she’d let the empty places between the stars get the better of her. Then it had been Joker, talking her through, sharing how it felt to be weak so she could remember how to be strong. 

_Joker_. The sudden rush of need and loneliness almost set her off again, but she squeezed her eyes tight, blew out a long breath, and kept what she’d regained of her composure.

When she thought her voice would hold steady, she asked “What now?”

“Now,” Geltz got to his feet, reaching down to pull her up after him. “We continue what we were doing. Life cannot just stop.”

She snorted. “Really? Feels like mine pretty much did, sitting in a cell.”

He smiled. “No. You just take breaks for awhile. Now, we start simple this time. Back to basic forms…”

———

Geltz got her the gym access he’d promised. Also an entertainment-only terminal loaded with vids and books, permission to visit the compound courtyard (under guard, and only during non-office hours), and hair gel. 

(Her hair was over an inch long, now, and she’d wanted to see if a fauxhawk would get a reaction from Vega. Sadly, Vega pretended not to notice. After a few days she spiked it instead, to keep the curls out of her eyes.).

She used her outdoors time to run. She liked being outside, feeling the thin winter sun on her face. She liked that her watchdog was so clearly _not_ built for running: poor Vega panted like a winded varren as he trailed desperately in her wake. Most of all, she liked the feel of running itself, stretching her long legs, stride eating the distance. Leaving it all behind her.

The sparring sessions with Geltz became a regular part of her life too, and did far more than the entertainment terminal to keep her sane. He only missed one week – it was Christmas, and Alejandro had both religion and family; a husband and a whole mess of nieces and nephews down in… El Paso? Somewhere like that. 

Rhi spent the time watching snow fall, immediately turning to slush under boots far below her window, and wished Jeff was there to watch it with her, and wondered what he was doing just then. Seeing snow from a warm place was something to be shared, even if it was only Vancouver’s soggy excuse for snow.

She was lonely. It wasn’t as bad as it had been in prison – her guards were right outside, and they’d always talk to her, even if they wouldn’t exactly _converse_ – but it wasn’t easy. She wanted a quiet cribbage game with Doctor Chakwas, their old evening decompression ritual. She wrote letters in her head to Jeff, to Tali, Garrus, and Wrex, but didn’t ask about sending real ones. Nothing worthwhile would get past the censors, and writing a formal letter to Joker seemed colder than nothing at all. _If he’s really on the SR2, and they haven’t busted EDI, she could decipher a code. Too bad I’m not smart enough to invent one._ That kind of subterfuge had never been her forte.

 _Kasumi could figure it out_. The thief was one of the few old crewmembers she _wasn’t_ worried about. If anyone could stay off the radar, it’d be her. Tali and Garrus were surely fine, too – they weren’t Alliance citizens, and they hadn’t been aboard when she and Joker went to Bahak. They were supposed to be preparing their governments for the war to come. _And for fuck’s sake, I hope they have more luck with theirs than I have with mine._

She felt out-of-place, drifting like the snow. It was such a _peaceful_ room, a world away from politics and aliens andimpending reapers and _life_. Her world had spanned the galaxy on the wings of the fastest ship ever built by human hands. It had encompassed planets, stations, ships and moons. It had held anger and fear and grief, glory and lust, the rush of adrenaline during a fight and the pleasant exhaustion afterward. Love. Her world had been _huge_. Now it was very small, a tiny world on its own, disconnected. Like a dream. 

‘It’s all a dream’ was a fucking crappy way to end a story.

She'd spent too much time alone, pacing the length of her room, that was all. Too much time with nothing to feed her brain. People went mad under those conditions. They started to write _poetry_.

 _She_ was _not_ going to write _poetry_. She was going to keep fit, stay sharp, and be ready to save everyone's asses again just as soon as they pulled their heads out.

Luckily, when Geltz came back he had a real project for her. He waited until Vega was out of earshot and she’d asked about his holiday before he explained his plan. 

“Naturally I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I would like your help. Our forces have had a few disturbing encounters with Cerberus troops lately.”

“ _Troops_? They can’t have that many people.” 

“We didn’t think they did. But you’d have been in more of a position to know…”

She scowled. “I wasn’t told much about any other Cerberus operations. Even when we… hacked the blocks on the VI, she only knew of three cells. I knew they had _money_ , but most of the personnel I saw… hell, actually I saw more Cerberus uniforms back on the SR1, hunting Saren. Researchers, mostly – mad-scientist engineering-a-super-weapon stuff. It sounds like you’re talking soldiers.”

“Yes. And not _just_ soldiers. Soldiers who are too fast, too strong. They have been… modified.”

“Like me.” Her voice was flat.

“I doubt it.” He snorted. “But you’re probably the closest we’ve got.”

“By now you know my limits backwards and forwards. So what gives?”

“ _I’m_ not on the front lines. But I have boys fresh from Rio who think they’re hot shit. I thought you might enjoy teaching them a few things they haven’t learned, yet.” He winked.

“Aww, you really offering me the chance to beat up your new baby Ens?” 

He grinned. “Feliz Navidad, Rhiannon.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Her smiles came easier now.

Working with the ‘baby Ens’ – N1s, straight out of first level special forces training – gave her purpose. She might not have a ship, or the ear of those in power, but she was helping prepare for the inevitable war just the same. Her reputation was such that when she dropped a seemingly off-hand comment, the marines _listened_. She used every bit of it, going well beyond Geltz’ initial request. Every marine who came through their improvised dojo left knowing about the zombie-like Reaper shock troops, and that they should be picked off from a distance; that there was an enemy who could turn you against yourself; and that the geth were not the Ur Enemy they’d be made out to be. 

There was only so much she could teach, since she was allowed neither biotics nor a firearm, but Geltz had a seemingly never-ending supply of students. When she ran out of things to show the first batch he magicked up a new group.

 _Either he’s really excited about having me here, or they’re fielding them_ fast. She feared it was the latter.

She had just showered after one such training session when Vega came to haul her before the Defence Committee. They hadn’t requested her since she’d first been put in Alliance Custody. Now the order sent a shiver of adrenaline down her spine.

When they turned towards the main mass of CentCom, away from the pseudo-residential wing she’d been stuck in, she could feel the tension in the air.

 _It’s happening. Already_.

It had to be. Nothing but war could stir CentCom like that.

 _How long has it been? Five months? Six?_ Had Aratoht really bought so little time?

She quickened her pace. Vega was practically trotting along behind her. _If we just spotted them, they must be at the edge of our scout patterns. Maybe two days until they hit the closest relay. The fleet better be moving._

She turned the corner smack into Anderson, striding along in full Dress. They changed the near-collision into a handshake, and he pulled an about-face to walk with her.

“Nice to see you again, Shepard. Not getting soft, are you?”

“Projection doesn’t look good on you. _Sir_.”

Anderson glanced down at his own belly. “Ouch. I deserved that. Listen. Something big’s headed our way. Hackett’s mobilized the fleets.”

 _Thank hell._ “Reapers.”

“We don’t know for certain –”

“The hell we don’t.” 

Before the Defence Command doors a familiar figure stopped to salute Anderson. Kaidan Alenko, one of the only people who both believed about the Reapers and was still in Alliance good graces. _Very_ good graces, judging by the shiny new Major’s bars. _Good. If they dragged Alenko in here, they realize what they’re up against._ Her mouth tightened in a small, close-lipped smile. Alenko didn’t quite manage to hide his double-take. He only had time to nod and say her name before she and Anderson were beckoned through the doors. 

The committee chair didn’t wait for formalities. “We’ve lost contact with everything beyond the Sol relay. Every colony. We had no idea anything could move so fast. Ms. Shepard, we –”

An aide interrupted her. “We just lost contact with Luna base!”

 _Stop standing here talking, people. Issue a damn command!_ Rhi’s fingers were itching for a gun. Anderson was muttering, probably issuing orders into a sublingual comm. _Thank god_. They needed to _move_.

“UK headquarters has a visual!”

Screens around the room lit up with images of fire and smoke, but Shepard didn’t need to see the Reaper silhouette. “Centcom’s a target! Get command to the bunkers, _now_!” 

Her parade-ground voice carried easily over the furor, but the committee, riveted by the vid footage, was slow to react. “She’s right. Activate evacuation plan D33, to be complete within one hour. We’ll – “

Through the window behind them, the cloudy sky had lit up red. Rhi’s bellowed “HIT THE DECK!” was drowned out by a deep thrum that shook the building, and then the glass and metal of the windows exploded inward.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took awhile, but GUESS WHAT GUYS THERE'S REAPERS!


	4. Escape from Earth

Shepard lunged out of the way. A hundred kilos of desk went sailing over her head, flung by the force of the explosion. She rolled to her feet beside one of the security officers (dead) and pulled the sidearm off the body. Through the dust-filled air she could just make out more still forms. The building was moaning, the sick sound of structural members straining, about to break. _Have to get out_. Better a fighting chance against whatever was out there than a slow death under rubble.

“Shepard!”

 _Anderson_. She followed his voice through the murk.

“Door’s blocked. Have to climb down outside. Come on.”

She clambered over the rubble towards the glow that marked the window and saw Anderson waiting on a ledge a meter below. _Thank goodness for decorative architecture_. She slid down beside him, out into the crisp, clear air, and got a good view of the extent of the assault.

Reapers hung in the sky, or stalked through the city on their strangely organic-looking limbs. They had seemed _huge_ in space; they made the city look like a toy. Vancouver was a model, a diorama to be destroyed. The reapers were real.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Anderson took off, almost sprinting along the broad ledge, and she followed him. From this vantage the complex was a landscape of staggered roofs; easy enough to maneuver on—as long as they weren’t noticed.

Reaper forces, more than she’d ever seen, were pouring through the city—and she was unarmored, without medigel, stuck with only an M3 pea shooter whose prior owner needed a good refresher course on gun maintenance. Worse, the inhibitor in her implant blocked her biotics; when she pulled she got only a sick ache along the back of her skull where there should’ve been a bright flash of power. She was only half herself; hamstrung.

She would gladly have stripped out of the fatigues and fought the reapers naked if she could only have that power back.

“Anderson! ANDERSON!”

He turned just long enough to beckon her forward, then was off running again. Shepard cursed. Didn’t he realize she was hardly armed?

If he wouldn’t turn back to help her help them both, she’d just have to catch him. Anderson hadn’t spent the last three months running laps. Her long stride ate up the distance between them. Speed made it easier to ignore Vancouver crumbling around her, the taste of dust and ozone on the crisp early spring air. The reapers were impossibly huge and incredibly loud; their energy beams fired with a deep thrum that shook the ground. The sound was constant.

She jumped down to the next level and found Anderson pressed against a wall, firing into an oncoming horde of husks. _They must’ve scaled the wall_. They did that, sometimes, modified fingers clinging with inhuman strength. The once-humans stumbled forward, zombie-like. She fired into the thick of them, cursing the weak M3. One husk kept advancing after she’d blown half its head off.

Biotics were the best way to deal with husks. “Damn it, Anderson, my implant—”

“Hope you haven’t forgotten how to use a gun, Shepard!”

The husk staggered into range, and she whipped the pistol across what remained of its face. It fell backwards off the roof. “Nope. But—”

“Not quite what I meant, Shepard,” Anderson said, and was off running again.

_Damn it._

 

 

———

EDI had caught the alarm before the human workers did. She’d extended her senses out through every crack in the security net she could find, trying to edge her way into Alliance systems, and so she heard the first ripples of fear long before anyone thought to issue orders to lowly drydock hands.

“Jeff,” she said. “They’re here.”

Joker, deep in a mass effect variable calculation he’d been working to ward off boredom, didn’t catch her meaning the first time around. “The dock inspectors, or—oh. Shit.” He froze for a moment. All was quiet in the _Normandy_ ; the workers aboard today were mostly specialist techs, working with omnitools rather than drills. Outside the forward windows the hangar was the normal dim, still black. But beyond that… were Reapers?

“Shit.” He took a deep breath. “You certain?”

“Yes.”

Joker nodded. He had a faint, foolish fear that’d they were about to attempt an epic jail break and then find out there wasn’t an actual _threat_ , which would land him back in jail _and_ make him look stupid, but he had to trust EDI.

It was just hard to imagine those monsters bearing down on them when everything around looked so _normal_.

 _That’s the kind of thinking that keeps the council sitting around twiddling their thumbs_. “Okay, EDI.” He took a deep breath. “Initiate OMFSE.”

He hadn’t really intended to give their glorious, desperate plan the acronym for “Oh My Fucking Shit ESCAPE!”, but when he’d flippantly mentioned it EDI had refused to let it go.

Lights on his panel that had glowed a sullen red started flickering through warm-up oranges, heading towards green, as EDI took control of the ship systems. The reactor was already running, so the ship could run off her own power instead of being leashed to the dockyard; now it jumped up to the next level. Eezo core, thrusters, shielding—the ship started to hum with life, transformed from the cold, inert shell she’d been. Back in the CIC, someone yelped, probably seeing their system come on of its own accord.

Campbell, who’d been drowsing behind him, immediately dashed out to investigate—and EDI slid the cockpit security doors shut behind her.

 _Newb._ Joker snorted. Shepard would’ve had Campbell’s hide for that kind of amateur behavior, but it certainly made his life easier. “We need those doors open, EDI.”

“Working on it. The last security code is long; I have the first two digits.” She showed him the code.

It started with “JM.”

Faster than EDI could cycle through the digits, he input his own serial number. The hangar doors slid open.

 _Anderson, you total dork_.

Outside, crates of equipment stacked haphazardly near the hull toppled over as Joker brought the eezo drives online, lifting the ship in place. There was screaming in the CIC now, and someone was banging on the cockpit doors. He ignored them.

The _Normandy_ was his again.

 

 

———

Anderson had led Shepard through a roof-access stair, down through a mostly-untouched building, muttering all the while that they had to reach the _Normandy_ —though he didn’t seem quite sure where it _was_ , and he wasn’t having any luck with his radio. She didn’t ask about the amp as they made their way through abandoned offices lit with dim emergency lighting; she didn’t want to be in the building any longer than they had to be. She could too easily picture a reaper coming in above, bringing all that weight down on their heads.

They came out only a story above the street, emerging from smoky dimness into bright chaos. Below them, the street battle raged. On the rooftops they’d only encountered the once-human husks, which scaled vertical surfaces with more-than-human strength. At ground level, the Reapers had unleashed larger minions—big hunch-backed bipeds she didn’t recognize. As she watched, one of them bent low over the corpse of one of its brethren and _fed._

The monster seemed to feel her gaze, because it raised its bloody head and looked straight at her with four maybe-once-batarian eyes. It lifted its arm. The misshapen muscle terminated in a fat, stubby gun.

Unlike the husks, these monsters were _armed_.

Shepard lunged sideways as a hail of bullets pocked the wall behind her. There was no cover at their height. She started to slip, turned it into a controlled fall, and dropped down to the street.

Anderson followed, ducking behind a piece of debris while bullets whizzed over their heads. “God, there’s a lot of them. I’m not sure we can deal with them all.”

“ _I_ can,” she hissed. ”Just get this damn thing out of my head.” The beasts had been less than sixty meters away, and were surely coming closer.

He really looked at her for the first time since they’d started running. “The inhibitor!”

She didn’t roll her eyes. Anderson wasn’t biotic; he didn’t understand. She’d changed a lot since the first mission she’d served under him. Her biotics had grown stronger with experience even before Cerberus got their hands on her and stuck an experimental implant in her skull. He couldn’t know how much she relied on them.

“Can you get it out?”

“Let me see.”

She knelt in front of him and bowed her head, feeling very, very vulnerable. Moans of the reaper monsters mixed with those of straining metal, all too close. She fought the urge to twitch when Anderson brushed the ticklish skin around the implant edge.

Somewhere to the left, someone screamed, terrified and dying.

Anderson’s omni-tool hummed, and he cursed once. Then a shiver went through her as the inhibitor disengaged, unused pathways reconnecting with the implant.

She bounced to her feet, nerves alive with power, and hurled a ball of force that toppled the three creatures just rounding the corner of their cover. Behind her Anderson gasped and dropped the inhibitor to the ground, forgotten. She turned, already looking for new prey.

 _There_ , on the top of the rubble.

She took a deep breath, feeling the familiar, exultant energy gather under her sternum, and flung herself at the enemy.

She passed the space between them in an eyeblink, her mass diminishing for transit then multiplied tenfold as she slammed into the four-eyed cannibal. Only the biotic barrier that shielded her from the full effect of the impact kept her from breaking her own bones. She’d never tried it unarmored, and she’d have bruises later.

It didn’t matter. The charge was everything she’d missed in six months of incarceration; power, motion, _freedom_.

Everything she’d missed except for Joker.

_Can’t think about that now._

The cannibal reeled back into the others, dead, pushing them off-balance for a moment.

It probably saved her life. The inhibitor was gone, but she’d never tried to draw that much power without an amp before. The world went shaky for a moment, and she didn’t know if it was another reaper barrage or her own nervous system. She slid back onto one knee, pulled out the pea-shooter, and put a round in the nearest creature. It was so close she hit despite shivering hands.

They were coming for her, now, and when she pulled for the biotics there was nothing. Not the sick ache of the inhibitor, just _nothing_.

She thinned her lips and took aim at another cannibal—and a shot from Anderson blew its head across the roof.

She used the opportunity to roll sideways back to his position, sliding into cover just as a welcome tingle told her that her biotic energies had recharged. Just in time—one cannibal had circled their position, trailed but some of its fellows. She needed a new sink in the gun, and she didn’t want to waste her far-too-limited power—but a little extra mass around her fist was all she needed. She started to punch, and before it connected her hand was glowing electric blue, moving just that much faster, just that much heavier, than should have been physically possible.

The blow caught the top-heavy creature off balance, and it slid a meter backwards on its ass. Anderson shouted at her, and they ran.

“Saw a downed gunship,” he panted as they went. “Might… have a radio.”

She nodded. Anderson was breathing heavily, and she saved her own energy to defend them both. The harbor was just another mad slip-scramble down to sea level, and then she could see the tail of the gunship on the quay.  

The gunship crew was there, too, an Alliance navy man crouched near his comrade, pinned by a strut. He looked at them like they were angels.

“We’ll get you out of there,” Anderson said.

Shepard eyed the hulk. “ _I_ ’ll get him out of there. You’ll use the radio.” The serviceman looked at her doubtfully, but Anderson complied, turning from the scene to burrow in the partially destroyed console. Rhi took a deep breath, bent her knees, and _strained_. Her enhanced muscles moaned, but the wreckage moved. When he pulled his buddy out, the serviceman’s doubt was replaced with something closer to awe. She slowly eased her burden down while he pulled supplies from a field kit.

“Got it!” Anderson eeled his way backwards out of the gunship cockpit. “ _Normandy_ on her way, and a transport shuttle.” He gestured at the wounded man. “Just have to hold out a few minutes.”

She nodded, scanning the terrain. The water of the harbor was choppy with the tumult of combat—ships flying low created their own micro weather patterns, and while she watched a skyscraper fell, causing a tidal wave in miniature—but the dock here was still intact. If they could get out to the end, Joker could bring the _Normandy_ down close enough that she could reach the cargo bay from the top of a yacht.

No. Not Joker. She had no idea who was flying the _Normandy_.

Her heart twisted painfully. She revised her flying standards down, and looked for a larger open area and a bigger yacht.

All that was assuming the _Normandy_ could make it through a war zone unscathed.

The healthy serviceman passed her his assault rifle—not her weapon of choice, but a damn sight better than the M3—and she and Anderson took up positions to either side of the wounded man. Another dull roar shook the ground; another building coming down. She unloaded the AR at a wave of enemies, shot the heat sink, and took out another. A Reaper’s red beam seared the ground a hundred meters away, cutting an ambulance in two, then a ground car. It carved a path all the way to the water, and that part of the harbor boiled.

They took down another wave. Another. The gun was smoking, and she was out of sinks. She toppled the next with a biotic shockwave and let Anderson pick them off.

The radio crackled. She could barely make out the voice through the din, but the triumphant tones were unmistakable. “The cavalry has arrived!”

“Go!” shouted Anderson, and she ran, around the gunship and out to the docks, along the path she’d chosen earlier. She could hear Anderson following behind her. The Normandy— _beautiful, beautiful bird_ —was coming in low over the water, lower than she’d seen anyone but Joker fly, and she ran to meet her, vaulting onto a boat and then up to the top of the wheelhouse as the ship closed, hangar doors invitingly open. One wild leap and she caught the edge of the ramp. Strong hands pulled her the rest of the way in, and she turned, arms out, ready to pull up Anderson—biotically, if she had to.

He’d followed her path up the yacht, but he shook his head.

“I’m staying, Shepard. I’m needed here. Get on that ship!”

She snorted. “I don’t take orders from anyone, remember? I’m a fucking terrorist!”

“You’re a fucking Alliance officer and Council Spectre, and you’re going to go get some god damned _help_!” He fished around in one of his uniform pockets and flung something small and shiny at her.

She caught it reflexively as it bounced off her chest. Dogtags.

“Consider yourself reinstated! NOW GO!”

He turned and ran himself, back towards the battle, the wounded men, and a fast approaching shuttle. She slipped the tags in her pocket and turned back into the darkness of the hangar.

———

Shepard spent the first moments in the hangar catching her breath, and the next few bracing herself against anything she could find as the _Normandy_ jagged this way and that, trying to get clear of the battle outside.

The radio crackled and Anderson’s voice filled the hold, broken by static. “Made it… safe. Shepard… _Normandy_ to Mars… not responding. T’soni… researching weapon. Then council! ...with a fleet!”

She took a breath to issue orders and her eyes fell on Kaidan Alenko, braced against a shuttle davit and looking seriously back at her. She paused.

 _Major_ Kaidan Alenko. _Right_.

"How'd you and Vega get here?" 

"We were near a shuttle when they hit. Radioed the Normandy on Anderson's orders once we got high enough to clear the interference."

She nodded. She wasn't really thinking about that at all. _Major_ Kaidan Alenko was a problem.

Years of unquestioning Alliance service, all of her training since boot-camp, fought with her natural possessiveness and the rebellious streak that had been given new life when she woke on a Cerberus operating table. It was _her_ ship. It was _her_ mission—but he outranked her, even once her dog tags were back around her neck where they belonged and she wasn't just a dangerous prisoner anymore. If Kaidan took command of the ship, the crew would back him—they had to.

She pulled the tags out of her pocket and slowly lowered them over her head, buying time with the ritual.

She didn't think she'd be very good at taking orders anymore.

If she forced the issue of command and lost, loss of respect was the least danger; a divided crew would be a disaster. It was just like it had been in the Reds: win, or give in. Fighting and losing was not an option.

She was aware of Vega watching on the sidelines. Kaidan was looking at her with equal intensity, but his mask wasn't as good as hers. She could see the conflict in his eyes, surprise and confusion.

Then, slowly, Alenko raised a hand to his temple. "Admiral Anderson gave his orders to _you_ , Shepard." He gave her a solemn salute. "The ship is yours, commander."

She smiled. "Pleasure to be working with you again, Major Alenko."

She just heard him whisper, "I wouldn't have your job for the world,” and then the ship’s internal comm asked, "Heading, Commander?"

The familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. _Joker_. It _was_ Joker at the helm. Her heart skipped a beat. That had been the fear too dark to examine, all through the nightmare run from CentCom; that Jeff would be killed while he sat helpless somewhere, or lost in the chaos of war. That they’d spent six months locked apart, and she’d never see him again.

"Joker?" Her voice _didn’t_ waver. She didn’t let it.

"In the flesh, Commander." His might have, just a bit.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. _It's been six months. You don't even know if he still wants you_. He was safe, though, or at least as safe as any of them. That was enough for now.

"Mars, pronto," she said. She couldn't trust her voice to say anything more.

Vega turned on her, furious. “We’re _leaving_? Earth is—people are fighting for their lives, and we’re _running_?!”

Shepard cut him off before he could get farther. She kept her voice low and threatening, in contrast to his outraged shout. “We’re not _running_ from anything. This war is everywhere. So stow that juvenile _bullshit_ and find me armor and a better gun. _Now_.”

Vega turned away, glaring, and started ordering enlisted to dig up armor, taking out his anger on them. When he’d left, she turned to Kaidan. “I could use an amp, too—know if there are any aboard?”

“Actually, since I started training the biotics squad I’ve been traveling with extras.” He opened a duffel and pulled out a case. He muttered under his breath while he flipped through the contents. “Here, try this.”

She took the amp he handed her, looked briefly at the label, and handed it back. “Got anything newer? I’m actually an L5 now—but this’ll work if it has to.”

His eyebrows rose, but he found another. That one suited. She removed the protective casing and lifted her hand to put it in—then stopped. She was so unused to going without an amp, she’d almost forgotten proper procedure for an unused implant port.

“Conditions weren’t too sterile on that battlefield—can you clean it for me?” It was a fiddly mess to do herself, and she could feel the seconds ticking down; Mars was just a breath away once they reached FTL.

Kaidan paused for a moment, then pulled the tools from his kit and efficiently disinfected the port, not so much as brushing the skin around it. She handed him the amp rather than contort herself, and it slid in with a soft click.

Every nerve in her body lit up like a Christmas tree.

If Kaidan hadn't caught her she would have fallen to the floor in sheer surprise.

She twitched, then jumped a little, her skin crawling in a way that was both disgusting and pleasurable, all her normal physical signals mixed.

"Hhhhhuuuh _wow_." She lurched away from Kaidan, hitting a wall before she recovered and pushed herself upright. She was suddenly very glad that Vega had taken the crowd elsewhere. "I... don't usually get much amp reaction."

"What was it, the bugs?"

The all-over creepy-crawly feeling was as common with new amps as it was with hallucinogens.

"That and then some." She shook her head to clear it and rolled her shoulders, the last vestiges of the weird tingly sensation skittering down her arms. "Apparently going without for six months really screwed things up."

He looked concerned. “You going to be okay to fight?”

“Better be. Don’t think I have much choice. It sounded like the Mars base wasn’t responding to hails—who knows what we might find.”

He nodded, all seriousness, and the hum of the ship shifted into FTL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhiannon87 for being my pinch-hit beta!
> 
> Now, I don't want to shock anyone, but chapter 5 will be posted in two weeks. Promise. No months long wait for the next one. :)
> 
> Also, this is the only time in her life Rhi has ever been on a yacht. Clearly she's moving up in the world.


	5. Mars

Kaidan had helped Shepard gear up in strained silence. He still wasn’t quite sure why they were headed to Mars, and he didn’t think she knew any more than he did, but he was glad she was faking it. Another time he’d have been comfortable issuing the orders, but seeing the Reapers destroying his home town had shaken him deeply. In the brief shuttle flight from CentCom to rendezvous with the _Normandy_ , he’d seen destruction too massive to be truly understood.

Kaidan understood Vega’s frustration, but _he_ didn’t want to go back to that fight without a fleet or four at his back.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to look at Vancouver again.  

Mars was a welcome distraction. The ranks of solar panels and the crunch of the rock dust under his boots was exactly as he remembered, as unchanging as only lifeless planets could be, deathly silent after the deadly noise in Vancouver. A dust storm raged in the distance, too far off yet to hear through his helmet.

Vega made worried noises at it, and Kaidan reassured him. “Reapers attacking earth, the Mars base has gone dark? A dust storm is the least of our worries.”

“It’s huge!”

“It’s normal-for-Mars.”

The young lieutenant hadn’t learned to ration his adrenaline yet. _Hang in there, kid. Don’t run out of panic before there’s actually something to panic about_.

Shepard found the first body; an Alliance sergeant. They left it where it lay and moved faster.

“Seems too quiet for Reapers,” Shepard murmured.

“Looked like a normal gunshot wound, to me. Can’t be sure with a glance, though.”

She nodded, and then a noise broke the stillness. No mistaking gunfire this time. Shepard sprinted forward, Kaidan hard on her heels, and they crested a small rise in time to see a ring of figures in white armor around a huddle of smaller forms. One raised a gun, and another shot cracked.

“They’re executing them!”

Only the armored figures were still standing. Shepard barked “Vega, grenade, right in the center!”

There followed a few seconds of chaos.

Kaidan wasn’t entirely sure _how_ Shepard had gotten from a few feet in front of him on the hill, to in amongst the enemy. His attention had been so focused on tracking his target through the dust thrown up by the explosion that he must have missed her sprint. _She’s crazy_. They’d had cover on the hill, and the advantage of height.

But most of the armored figures lay still. As he watched, Shepard drove her fist into the last one standing. The blow shouldn’t have done much, armored as her opponent was, but her arm was glowing biotic-blue. The armor crumpled inwards, and the body dropped to the ground.

Kaidan had never been big on close fighting. He’d had the required training, obviously, but no one wanted to risk a rare L2 biotic on the front of the front lines. He’d never considered using biotics to augment physical strength. Even as he started forward, the back of his mind chewed on how he could copy the trick. It was more comfortable food for thought than what the reapers might be doing on earth.

 _Or what Cerberus is doing on Mars_ , he thought when he got a better look at the armored figures. The armor was emblazoned with the group’s logo—the same logo that had marked the people with Shepard when he saw her last. _Her_ armor had been conspicuously lacking in the white-gold-and-black terrorist branding, as he recalled. Small mercies.

Shepard was already moving on. He trotted to catch up with her.

“Cerberus?” It wasn’t quite a question.

She nodded.

“Any idea what they’re doing here?”

“They didn’t tell me their plans even when I was supposedly working with them. I don’t know any more than you.” There was a hint of a growl in her voice, but her next question was calm. “Only a few vehicles back there. Seems like a pretty small force to take this facility. You’ve been here before, right?”

Kaidan reminded himself that Anderson still trusted her, and he himself had chosen not to fight for command.

“Years ago.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the small transports and did some quick math. “I’d want five, six times that number of people. It’s heavily guarded. They can button the whole place up from the inside, in layers on down to the core. The archives proper are a high security area, special clearance only.” The secret of element zero and the mass effect had come from the prothean ruins on Mars; the Alliance didn’t treat it like any old archeological dig.

“Meaning you didn’t get to snoop when you were stationed here?”

All trace of her irritation was gone. The sly humor in her voice sent him back three years, to a time before he’d doubted her, and he answered in kind. “ _I_ got the special tour. Good behavior.”

“Flirted with the receptionist?”

His lip twitched up despite himself. “Maybe a bit.”

Behind them, Vega chuckled. He was looking steadier than he had been, reassured by his superiors’ apparently relaxed camaraderie, no doubt.

Shepard saw the direction of Kaidan’s glance and gave him the slightest hint of a nod.

 _That’s what the banter was about. Two old hands, putting the youngster at ease_. He wasn’t sure where he and Shepard stood, but she’d always been damn good at seeing what her people needed and supplying it. It was something he’d tried to emulate, in his own way.

They made it to the nearest cargo entrance without spotting any more hostiles. The airlock doors were unsecured. All the automated systems worked smoothly. No alarms went off—and there probably _should_ have been alarms, when he thought about it. The only noise in the garage was a not-quite-rhythmic thumping coming from machinery somewhere else in the installation.

Thumping which was getting closer.

“Someone’s coming,” Shepard said, “Banging around in… damn. Where?”

“Ventilation system.” He pointed at the heavy ductwork run along the ceiling. Shepard and Vega immediately fanned out to cover the nearest terminus.

“Someone’s been watching too many action movies,” Shepard growled, and then the thumping crescendoed, joined by a chorus of even louder clanks.

The grate popped off, and a lithe blue figure dropped out of the ducts. The asari whirled, clearly more concerned with her pursuers than the three marines with weapons drawn. She sent a biotic surge back up into the ductwork, and two Cerberus goons were dragged out into the light, where they were dispatched neatly by Shepard’s pistol.

The asari said “Thanks, Shepard,” in a very familiar voice.

“Liara!” Whatever she was doing here, he was glad of it.

Shepard was more to-the-point. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” Liara rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Hackett asked me for help. I’d been digging, trying to find out anything about the reapers. I kept finding references to a prothean device—some kind of weapon—and all the signs pointed here. The admiral got me access. I’ve been working on Mars over a month.”

“There’s been a _Reaper Killer_ buried on _Mars_ the whole time? That’s too fucking easy.” Shepard almost seemed offended.

“Not a weapon; _plans_ for a weapon. Or, I think it’s a weapon. I’m not an engineer, I haven’t been able to parse the data. It took ages just to find the thing—do you know they’re still opening up new chambers here? I was just looking it over when we got word about Earth, and right after that Cerberus arrived. The last hour has been _chaos_.”

“Do you have them with you? We should get out of here—to hell with Cerberus!”

“ _With me?_ I didn’t carry plans for a potential super weapon to the cantina for my coffee break, Shepard! They’re on the secure mainframe, in the archives proper.”

“Let me guess,” Kaidan said, “the secure mainframe is isolated from the computer systems here?”

“Of course!”

 _So much for a quick mission_. “Nothing’s ever easy…”

Shepard rolled her eyes in sympathy. “How do we get to the archive?”

“We’ll have to get back in through the main building here. I don’t know how many they have inside; I was up in the offices checking on something when they attacked. Goddess, there’d be over a hundred people in the cantina this time of day—it’s pretty central. Then the archives are separated from this complex by a tram—if they’ve breached that we’ll have a hard time getting across with four people.”

“Three,” Shepard corrected. “James, I want you to head back to the shuttle. We can’t risk them stealing our exit.”

“But—”

“Move it!”

Vega swallowed his protest and left at a jog. The airlock closed behind him.

“Let’s get going—wait. Hear that?” Shepard cocked her head. “We’ve got incoming.”

The sound of many booted feet was soon all too clear. _They probably think they’re coming to clean up one asari_. The garage was two-level, a ground-floor vehicle area circled by a balcony for maintenance and unloading cargo. The noises were coming from above.

A door crashed open, and Cerberus troops poured out, a mass of heavily armored hostiles squarely in the room’s high ground.

Shepard _laughed_.

A biotic discharge rippled along Kaidan’s nerves as she pulled two men from their perch. The next three ran into a micro-singularity—that must have been Liara; it took a biotic of astonishing power—and were lofted up into the air, arms windmilling, before they’d fired a shot. Shepard left the first two men floating near the ceiling, and pulled another into Liara’s trap.

It had been ages since Kaidan had worked with another fully-trained biotic, let alone two. The enemy’s strategic position was useless before them. He used a small charge of his own to set up a counter-force to Liara’s singularity; the man caught between them was ripped apart in the resulting explosion. Kaidan had spent months making sure biotic recruits didn’t do that on accident; used intentionally, it was a potent weapon. Shepard nodded approval, then neatly shot the two men she’d thrown as they fell back to the ground.

Only one was left on the balcony now, and Kaidan sent out a biotic tug, lifting him up, off his feet —and then Shepard pulled, and now the helpless body was drifting towards her, high above their heads. It was almost a game. Kaidan started to reach out energy to pull it— _him_ back—and recoiled.

This kind of thing shouldn’t be _fun_.

Shepard had been grinning. It scared him. He didn’t remember that unholy glee from other fights by her side, and that scared him more.

He followed her across the garage in silence, out into the facility proper.

There was no resistance as they moved through the first string of offices; apparently everyone stationed here had met their fate in the garage. Despite Kaidan’s re-awoken doubts about Shepard, the three of them moved like the team they’d been: watching each other’s backs, checking the path ahead.

“It’ll be quickest if we cut across the surface, here,” Liara whispered as they neared an airlock. “It’s only a few meters to the emergency lock for the commons area, and that has quick access to the tram-way.”

Shepard nodded, and they cycled back out onto the barren dust of Mars. The storm Vega had noticed was picking up, now. When Shepard radioed the shuttle to check that all was well, the response was garbled. Trying to reach the _Normandy_ was worse.

Liara had sworn she could open any door in the base, but there was no need. The lock they headed for was invitingly open. They shared an ominous look.

A corpse collapsed inward onto Shepard’s feet when the inner door opened. It was blue and grasping; a spacer’s nightmare. Another two slumped nearby.

It was cold, per his armor read-outs. Cold, and dark, and without oxygen.

 _Why have a messy gunfight when you can just vent the atmosphere?_ “They had to have someone on the inside.”

Shepard nodded. “Looks like it. That’d explain the size of their force, too.”

Liara’s fears had been prescient. The commons area was filled with people—with _bodies_. Most had collapsed near exits, even exterior ones, as if the harsh world outside would have offered more hope than being trapped in here. Lack of oxygen did funny things to the brain. Others had died hunched over their work, or clutching each other. In the cafeteria there were corpses hiding under tables, and others on tables, as if they’d tried to find a way out through the ceiling.

Kaidan dimmed the night-vision enhancement in his helmet and relied on the thermal imaging. Seeing the scene too clearly would only be a distraction. The only things he needed to worry about—the only things they had _time_ to worry about—put off heat.

And heat there was: a handful of signatures on the other side of the cafeteria, their thermal silhouettes distorted by armor. _Probably making sure the massacre was thorough._ He gestured to Shepard.

The fighting was quick, biotic, and brutal. They had plenty of cover, and the Cerberus troops had expected only corpses.

No one laughed this time.

When all was quiet again, Liara pointed out the section security station, still lit by dim red emergency lights. “It has the secondary environmental controls—and it should have had personal emergency units, as well. There are others near all the exits. Why was no one wearing them?”

A search of the nearest locker revealed that all of the emergency oxygen equipment was exactly where it should be—and none of it had a charge.

“Definitely an inside job,” Shepard said. “Get into that security terminal and see if you can pull up the last security footage. I don’t want to be surprised.”

Getting in was easy; they hadn’t bothered to sign out. Kaidan cycled quickly back through the vid, speeding through the last moments of the staff, then played it forward again. There was the sector security officer, at his post. A researcher walked into view behind him, making small talk. The guard took a sip of his coffee, then set it down. He’d seen an alarm from another part of the station. He stood up—and slid down again. The blade of a knife protruded from his chest.

The ‘researcher’ smiled in a way that made Shepard’s battle grin look downright sane. He worked on the controls for a moment, slipped on a pocket breather, and walked out the door. He was slim, probably asian, with black hair long enough to fall forward over his face when he worked. The top half of his face was obscured by a tinted infoVisor, making it hard to be sure of any distinguishing features.

“There’s our man.”

Liara gasped. “Him! His name was Kyle. Kyle Wong. He arrived about a week ago, with a small team. A researcher from… I don’t know, somewhere.” She was horrified. “Oh goddess, I thought he was a twit with awful hair. I never thought—”

Kaidan, surprised between horror and amusement, choked out, “I suppose that was the point.”

“I didn’t realize you were into a hair connoisseur,” Shepard added.

“ _Please_ , Shepard. He always wore that ‘visor, too—usually people leave them in the lab. He seemd like such a, a—”

“Poser?” Shepard offered.

“Hiding his eyes.” Kaidan suggested.

Shepard agreed. “Let’s get going. We have a murderer to find. Liara doesn’t like his hair.”

The going got harder, after that. The Cerberus operatives had decided the narrower corridors leading to the tramway were a good place for a rear guard. They had to fight their way past planned positions, where the enemy had all the advantage—and Kaidan had to do it while keeping pace with Shepard.

She was more than just fast. One moment he was getting ready to move out of cover, hoping to get a vantage on a sniper hiding behind a power shield, and the next there was a flash of biotic-blue and Shepard was _there_ , in the place he’d been scheming to reach, and the sniper was flying backwards. Kaidan watched more carefully after that, but he couldn’t figure out how in hell she did it. He couldn’t even catch a mnemonic trigger gesture. There was just the briefest of pauses, and then only a blur where Shepard had been standing—and inevitable cries alarm from wherever she’d ended up.

Biotic power did tend to improve with age, but her new abilities were another thing entirely. It was unsettling to think on how she’d come by them, but what she could _do_ was _fascinating_ —or it would have been, if he hadn’t been too busy just trying to keep up with her to think about the intricacies of biotic manifestation.

If she’d been able to do this ever since she was… reanimated… he wanted to know how her old teams had managed.

Liara gave him a sympathetic look in a momentary lull. “She does keep one on one’s toes.”

“You’ve seen his before?”

She nodded. “I’ve known a handful of asari front-liners who could manage it. It’s not something just anyone can master…” She winced. “Or that most people _want_ to. Hitting the enemy with _yourself_ is not generally considered the optimal strategy.”

 _Seems to be working pretty well so far_. Shepard’s little trick had turned what should have been a deadly game of chance into a comparative cakewalk. She picked positions that were otherwise hard to take, often behind the Cerberus front line, and he and Liara could take easy advantage of the ensuing chaos. They were making headway faster than he’d have thought possible.

“Pretty impressive, though.”

“Absolutely. Shepard seems to have picked it up, after… after.” Liara sighed. “It does make following her tiring. Or maybe I’ve been at a desk too long.”

“Nothing like a little fieldwork.”

They caught up with Shepard in a clear space.

“How many more can there be?” Kaidan wondered.

Shepard nodded towards a corpse. “Grab his radio. Maybe we can tell what’s ahead from their comm chatter.”

Kaidan nodded and bent to the task, searching for the seals on the Cerberus helmet. “Do you know how these things work?”

Shepard shot him an unreadable look, then went back to watching the door. “Never seen ‘em before.”

Kaidan found the catch, lifted the helmet off, and recoiled with a cry.

The face inside had clearly started human, but the dead eyes were entirely electrical, the sockets burnt black. Pinpricks of cold light still burned where irises should have been, and in traceries under otherwise-human skin. The helmet sat on the floor beside him, forgotten. Inside the built-in radio twinkled and hissed.

“He’s a _husk_.” Shepard knelt beside him, staring at the corpse with an expressionless face. “Or half-way there, anyway.” She rocked back on her heels. “So that’s why their troops are so strong. Is the Illusive Man indoctrinated? Or… he did have some remnants of reaper tech, I think from Sovereign. He used them to build—”

Kaidan stared at her, horrified.

“ _EDI_ ,” she said, catching his look. “He used them to build _EDI_.”

She was staring at him intently. _Her_ eyes were brown, her skin likewise... but there was a tracery of regular scarring on her cheek. _Surgical_ scarring. No burning, no electricity, no lights. _None that show_.

“EDI. The VI. Right.” He looked at her sidelong. “How do you know they didn’t… god. You were working with them, wearing that uniform, not a year ago, while they must have been doing _this_ —”

Shepard stood up, anger coming off her in almost palpable waves. He stood himself and had to take a step back when she bore down on him.

She didn’t shout. Her voice, if anything, got lower, and she almost spat out her words.

“ _Look_ , Kaidan. _I didn’t know_. I don’t like what they do and I don’t like how they do it. I want the Illusive Man’s head on a plate. My last act ‘in that uniform’, as you put it, was to give him the finger, blow up his prize and steal his _very_ expensive ship. If that’s not enough to get you to trust me you better fake it for the next half hour, because we _don’t have the fucking time_.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“You trusted Anderson when he gave me our orders. You just have to trust for a little bit longer, and then you can ask all the questions you want.” The bite had gone from her voice.

“That radio’s been silent. There can’t be many left.” Now Shepard smiled—not a warm smile, but the cold teeth-baring of a hunter that smells its prey. “We’re close.”

Ten minutes later they stood at the door to the Archives.

———

Rhi paused at the entrance to the chamber. It was impressive; an expansive ring around a central column holding the elegant spires of prothean artefacts. It looked more like a museum than a library. Liara had once told her protheans didn’t store data the way they did.

Rhi sent Kaidan to check the perimeter, watching him go as she followed Liara down to the center console. She couldn’t blame him for being worried, but she also couldn’t stop in the middle of a firefight and explain that she was happy because she wasn’t stuck in fucking _jail_. She couldn’t explain, racing against the clock, that she understood his doubt, that she’d doubted herself too, at first.

Hooray for good communication and all, deep important shit, but _now was not the fucking time_.

She wished that she’d let him see how the partially huskified trooper had shaken her. She’d quelled her reaction out of habit, but a little more drama might have reassured him.

Liara scowled at the terminal. “There’s a message coming in!”

“Let’s see it.”

There was a holo projector as part of the computer suite. The face that shimmered into focus was one Shepard didn’t want to see again unless she was sighting down a pistol.

“Illusive Bastard.” He looked as smug as always.“The hell you want?”

“Charming as ever, I see.” He flicked ash off his ever-present cigarette. “The data in these artifacts holds the key to solving the reaper threat.”

“Uh huh. Which is why you’re working so very hard to make sure no one but you has it. Very noble. Saw your new troops, by the way.”

He scowled. “They’re being _improved_.”

“Into reaper meat? That man was half-way to husk. Drooling cyber-zombies are only an improvement if your goal is _cannon fodder_.”

“You assume that any use of reaper technology must have the same end.” He curled his lip in disgust. “That’s what separates us, Shepard. You only want to destroy the immediate threat; I see the broader picture—a means to _harness_ the power of the reapers. To take what is useful and leave what is not.”

“God damn, did someone leave the player on repeat? I swear I’ve heard this before.”  Rhi glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t let us distract you, Liara. Go ahead and get that data.”

“I’m talking about helping all of humanity, Shepard!”

The bastard was starting to sound frantic. He _had_ been trying to distract them. _That means one of his people must be trying to get it as we speak_. _Where is he?_ The skin on the back of Rhi’s neck crawled. She keyed her helmet to pick up sub-vocals and silently let Kaidan know the Illusive Man’s operative was still around.

“You really like humanity as an abstract concept, don’t you?” Shepard shifted her weight, casually bringing more of the room into view. It was vast, full of corners shadowed by the dim emergency lighting. _Damn_. “As individuals you don’t give a flying fuck, or your new toys would be down on Earth fighting to _save_ people instead of killing _more_ of them.”

“I contacted you to discuss action, not philosophy, Shepard.”

“Great! If you want to help the war effort, I’m sure I can figure out where you’d be most useful.” _In the protein recyclers on the Citadel. After being purified_. “Or did you think a few months in jail would give me a change of heart and I’d come be your little lap dog? Sorry. No change where you’re concerned.”

The Illusive Man raised his head a bit, trying to look down on her. It would’ve worked better if she hadn’t been taller than him.

“You were a tool, an agent with a singular purpose—and despite our differences, you were moderately successful. But I have others.”

He tried to play it cool, but she could tell he was angry. _And if the Illusive Man is angry, at least one thing is right with the world._

“Like the tool trying to download the data we’re after? Liara, how’s it coming?”

“Almost have it, Shepard. But you’re right—someone else is copying the same files. I think they meant to wipe them, but they don’t have the security clearance.” She sniffed. “I _never_ leave valuable research data so unprotected someone could delete it by accident.”

The Illusive Man was scowling ferociously, and Rhi decided it was a great time to end the call. She thumped her fist down on the comm control panel and his image flickered out, scowl transforming into angry shout as it did.

“That operative's still here, somewhere. I’m gonna go help Alenko—” She was interrupted by a shouted alarm, and whirled just in time to see Kaidan, on the far side of the chamber, take a kick that knocked his air out. She raised her pistol.

Alenko’s assailant, about to continue his attack on the near-helpless marine, saw the gun leveled at him and ran.

It was the unconvincing ‘researcher’, Kyle Wong.

“Keep at it!” she told Liara, and took off after him.

In a straight race, Rhi could’ve beat him easily, but she was heavily armored and he knew the territory. If she paused long enough to gather herself for a charge, he ducked out of sight up a ladder or into a maintenance hall, and she had to swallow the energy unused and take off running again, lest she lose him.

He was heading _up_. _Must have a shuttle on the roof_. It couldn’t be far; the Martian installation hugged the surface, and they hadn’t gone deep into the vaults. Alenko radioed; he was on his feet, and coming after her.

‘Kyle Wong’ threw something on the ground. She turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut just in time to avoid the flashbang, and he gained another few feet.

She was starting to really _hate_ the sight of the jerk’s rear end. She put on another burst of speed and saw his feet just disappearing up a ladder.

The hatch at the top of the ladder opened on the dim light of the Martian day. The dust storm was imminent, the first winds staining the air dull red. Thirty meters away, Wong was running towards a shuttle waiting at the end of the long roof.

Rhi growled and pushed herself out of the hatchway, aiming a wave of biotic energy at his feet. The mass disturbance caused weird ripples in the wind-blown dust, but Wong jumped high at the peak moment, avoiding the worst of the force. He came down in a crouch.

_He must be modded to jump that high. One of their new enhanced troops._

She started running again. This time there was nowhere for him to hide. As soon as she’d recovered from generating the shockwave, she paused just long enough for a deep breath, gathered energy into her chest, and charged.

She closed the distance between them in a split second, and the full force of her armored shoulder struck him in the back. The bruises she’d earned fighting unarmored through Vancouver pulsed with pain despite the armor’s dampeners. Wong was thrown off his feet. He was good, though—better than most people fighting biotics. Instead of resisting he let himself be thrown, twisted in the air, and hit the ground on his ass instead of his head. He still hit hard—but she’d inadvertently shoved him even closer to the shuttle.

She’d raised her gun right after the impact. The carnifex barked, but his shield held against her first two shots. He leapt for the shuttle. Her third shot found its mark just as the hatch slid closed. She saw his silhouette double over in pain, but either it wasn’t a death wound, or he had an accomplice to pilot. The shuttle was lifting off.

“Vega! Shuttle trying to get away; I can’t raise the _Normandy_!” The dust storm was playing merry hell with the comm system. She could only hope he heard her.

The shuttle spun tightly as it lifted off; if she’d had a heavy weapon, she could have taken out its cockpit. The carnifex would only ding the windscreen, so she didn’t waste the time.

 _Why is it flying so low, though?_ For an optimistic moment she thought they must be trying to avoid her air support; that from their higher vantage point they’d seen the _Normandy_ , but then the shuttle turned tighter, back towards the roof. Through the blowing dust she saw a blue armored figure climbing out of the ladder-way, and her heart clenched.

“ALENKO! GET DOWN!” she yelled it into the radio, but he didn’t react, and he was looking the wrong direction. The shuttle was coming _at_ him. The bastard was going to run Kaidan down, just because he was _there_. Rhi ran forward, gathering her biotics, but the damn shuttle was in the way, flying low over the roof. She couldn’t target what she couldn’t see.

An Alliance kodiak came bursting out of the storm, aimed to hit the Cerberus shuttle broadside. _Vega_.

The kodiak poured on the speed, daring the Cerberus vehicle to keep its present course. The Cerberus shuttle started to swerve—soon enough?—and then there was an awful scrape of ceramic on ceramic. The Cerberus shuttle up into the air, side rear dented and torn. The kodiak hit the roof hard and spun sideways, turning just enough to reveal a body in blue armor lying prone beyond it.

Rhi was there before Vega managed to clamber out of the shuttle. She knelt besides the— _not corpse, damn it, that’d be a fucking stupid way to die_ —beside Alenko, and her helmet picked up the biodata from his armor.

Alive. Unconscious, but alive.

Vega ran up behind her. “Report!” she barked.

“ _Normandy_ reports reapers incoming! Is he—?”

“Alive. _What did you see_?” She needed time to prep Kaidan for transport; James might as well talk.

“The shuttle was so low, he couldn’t even duck, so I thought—”

“Not what you thought. What _happened_.” She’d lead enough young officers that the words were automatic; her mind was on the job in front of her. There should be an emergency immobilization lock on Alenko’s armor, if she could just get it without moving him—there. Thin rods snapped into place on his helmet, doing service as a field back board. It was lucky the mechanism was still intact. The torso plating was a mess.

“They caught him with the corner when they were turning. Picked him up, kinda. The turn threw him a few meters.” Vega shifted uneasily. “Better than _crushed_ , though, right? I mean, he’s alive!”

 _Ask me again if he’s still alive in twenty-four hours_. She pulled Alenko’s body up over her shoulders, wincing at the extra damage she must be causing. “And we have reapers incoming? That shuttle better still be able to fly.”

———

Shepard checked on Kaidan in the med bay as soon as she'd removed her armor. There was nothing she could _do_ there—the junior med tech who'd taken charge of him wasn't nearly up to dealing with Alenko's injuries, but he had far and away more skill than her own battlefield first aid—but Kaidan was part of her crew again, and that made it her duty. In other circumstances she would have waited in the medbay until he woke up, but without a real doctor that could be days— _or never_ —and she had a ship to run. She stopped just long enough to see that she'd be in the way then left for the command deck—and the helm, and Joker.

When she stepped from the elevator into the CIC the ‘crew’—a motley assortment of people who'd been aboard to work on repairs and retrofits—snapped to attention with perfect precision. The _Normandy_ SR2 was an Alliance ship, now. Shepard couldn't just barge through the CIC without acknowledging, somehow, that she was in formal command of the ship—and that the situation was grim.

Rhi returned the salute and stepped up to the raised command platform near the galaxy map, racking her brain for something appropriate to say. 'If anyone has any problems with me, have it out _now'_ was certainly _not_ appropriate. Neither was 'Well gang, we're really fucked over this time _'_.

She adjusted the collar radio to a ship-wide channel. Every eye was on her.

“This is Commander Shepard, speaking to the crew of the Alliance Frigate _Normandy_. I know none of you expected to be in this position. The unexpected is part of war. You were chosen to work on the _Normandy_ because you were the best in your fields,” or so she fervently hoped, “and I expect that same standard of excellence to see us through this. Some of you have never served in a ship in combat. Don't worry—you won't be green for long.”

“We’re highly trained professionals on the best ship humanity has ever built. We know our enemy. We know how to fight. I know you’ll give your very best. Your very best is what we’ll need.” She looked around the ring of apprehensive faces, meeting each set of eyes in turn, daring them to be brave. “Give it, and we will win this war.”

She stepped down from the command platform amid salutes that came from respect rather than formality, and walked around the CIC, checking in at each station, before she let herself turn towards the helm. A pair of new security doors separated the cockpit from the CIC. She still couldn’t quite believe that Joker was behind them, but when the doors slid open she could just see the blue of a cap over the headrest. When the doors shut behind her she stopped moving, for what felt like the first time in hours, and stared at the back of Joker's chair.

It had been six months. Now it was war. She had no idea what to say.

———

It had been six months, but Joker still recognized the unique sound of Shepard's footfalls on the gangway leading to the bridge. The door slid open, then shut. The feet came to a stop.

When she didn't say anything, he pushed himself laboriously out of his chair.

Her class-As hadn't been cleaned. They still smelled of dirt, smoke, and sweat from her fight through Vancouver. Her shorn hair stuck out every which way. It was just the right length to be maximally mussed by her helmet.

They stared at each other in silence.

Finally he said, "I like the haircut."

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief, expression halfway between shock and a grin, and she started to say "You _bastard_ —" but he kissed her before she could finish.

The firm line of her mouth melted against his, and her warm breath carried his name with it.

Joker closed his eyes and smelled _her_ under the smoke and blood.

The newly-installed cockpit security doors whirred, and they stepped hurriedly apart. Rhi spun to face the interruption, but she kept hold of his hand behind her back.

The doors opened less than an inch, then slid shut again.

“I have informed the technician who just attempted to enter that you are engaged in an officers-only discussion,” EDI’s voice said from a speaker in the bulkhead, “and apologized for the slight ‘glitch’ in the door.”

Rhi glanced sheepishly towards the CIC, but she didn’t let go of Joker.

“The new doors keep it nice and quiet up here, but if you lock ‘em, the whole CIC knows,” he explained. “And the ship’s full of techs who are used to poking their noses everywhere.” He kept his grip on her hand. Potential of imminent audience or not, he wasn’t ready to let go of her, either.

“Ship full of dockhands and gearheads,” Rhi muttered. “EDI, Can you mind the helm for a bit?”

“Of course, Commander,” EDI said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Joker hardly noticed the flush rise on his own cheeks; he was too happily distracted by Rhi, who he almost never saw nonplussed. Her mouth opened once, shut again, and then she choked out “ _That_ … wasn’t my _immediate_ plan.”

“Damn,” Joker murmured, and Rhi’s laughter won out over her consternation.

The smile she turned on him was full and bright and promised that whatever the immediate plan was, _that_ was definitely in the near future. “For now,” she said, “I want to know what’s changed on the ship, and I hear you know. Give me a tour?”

“My pleasure.”

They walked out of the cockpit together and started the tour of the revamped SR2 with the command deck. The forward parts of the Command deck, the CIC and the cockpit, were mostly unchanged, but the area aft had been entirely reworked to better serve as an admiral’s flagship. A small conference room and a smaller stateroom took the place where Mordin’s lab had been. The old armory had been moved to the hangar deck, along with a tiny-but-complete gym and a locker area for marines armoring up, and the entire area aft of the CIC was now a war room, fitted with communications suites and simulators capable of depicting and predicting fleet actions on a massive scale.

The weight of important things unsaid grew between them as they walked the reconfigured decks. Joker pointed out new systems and tools, an eye always on Rhi beside him. She nodded at some changes, raised an eyebrow at others, and let most pass without even that much comment, but it wasn’t really her reaction to the ship he was watching for. He just wanted to watch _her_. He forced himself to focus on the urgent practicalities of the ship and not on Rhi’s presence, so close and far too far away.

She looked at him so little that she must have been doing the same thing.

———

The fire awoken by that one too-brief kiss smoldered.

Shepard’s attention was divided in myriad directions. She needed to make the _Normandy_ combat-ready. She needed to make some order out of this disordered ‘crew’. She needed a plan, and she needed it _before_ they docked at the Citadel.

She needed to talk to Joker.

That first hurried kiss had put the worst of her fears to rest, but it didn’t even start to make up for six months of no communication. If they could just have fifteen uninterrupted minutes, she could make sure of the really important stuff and then go deal with little minutiae like Cerberus and the Council and _Reapers_ with a clear head.

Engineering was fairly quiet; the working focus had clearly been on other systems when Joker took off with all aboard. They saw only a few people as they left the elevator, despite new engineering sector racks that would bunk at least twelve.

Shepard kicked at a tangle of cable on the floor. "Shit, this is an accident waiting to happen. Have to get someone down here pronto to tape everything out of the way, or someone's gonna break their nose during a red alert."

Joker snorted. "Tell me about it. Been having to watch everywhere I step for weeks."

She nodded, and offered her arm for balance over the hazard. A fall for him was frequently a disaster.

She opened one of the maintenance hatches that lead into the long, narrow spaces between the _Normandy_ ’s inner and outer hulls, ducking her head to climb through. Joker followed after.

The hatch had barely snicked closed behind him before she had him up against the wall, her mouth hot on his, hips pressing him into the bulkhead. One of his hands wrapped around her waist, urging her closer. The other laced through her short hair. His beard was a delightful tickle-scratch counterpoint to his tongue.

 _Talk. I wanted fifteen minutes to_ talk _. Right._

Rhi ended the kiss to lean in closer, panting against his neck. It had been so long, so very long since she'd had him.

“I was afraid you’d give up on me,” she whispered.

His first reply was to hold her more tightly. Then he said “Never.” It was almost a low growl, disconcertingly serious for him, but a moment later he added, “Besides, the social opportunities while being held as a maybe-terrorist weren’t that great.”

It was mumbled into her hair and punctuated with a kiss, and so absolutely 100% Jeff that it reassured her more than anything else could have.

“Anderson told me you were alright,” she said, “But I was afraid to ask any more. It was…” she shivered. “Complicated.”

“I know,” he whispered. “No one told me anything, but EDI kept an ear out, and I caught some of the news. None of it was good.” He squeezed her again. “Flying out of that hangar I was scared shitless that you were still trapped in a cell somewhere.”

She nodded, face still pressed into his neck. “You have no idea how relieved I was to hear your voice on the PA. For months I told myself not to worry, that when I got out I’d see you again, and then all I could think running through that hell was that you might die in it and I _couldn’t do anything_.” She raised her head so she could see his eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

He kissed her again for reply, hot breath mingling with hers, one caressing hand on her cheek. “Right back atcha.” His voice was a solemn whisper, belying the casual words.

She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to let go. “I need to get back out there soon, but first there’s something we have to talk about.”

He froze. “You know ‘we need to talk’ are the most ominous four words in the language, right?”

Startled, she pulled away a bit, trying to see if he was being serious. “They are?”

“You really don’t know?” He cocked his head to the side and squinted at her in the dimness. “No. You don’t. Okay. Yes.” He sighed. “From your lover? They totally are.”

“Worse than ‘Reapers just attacked Earth?’”

“That’s not ominous. It’s already ommed.”

She chuckled, then sighed. “Yeah, that’s sort of the point. The war is here. We’re going to have to be at our best just to survive. And it’s not a nominally-civilian ship anymore.” She sighed. “There are fraternization regs.”

He went still. “You don’t—please don’t say you want to—” his jaw tightened, “end things?”

“No!” She thought the fervent kissing would’ve made that clear. Apparently not. She kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to kiss away the worry, and found one of his hands to hold in hers. “Fuck, no. I just don’t want to get _caught_. We’ve already talked about all of the… ramifications. Months ago.”

He relaxed. “Oh, good. For a minute I was afraid you were going to suggest one of those self-denial-for-the-greater-good things.”

“I fail to see how being miserable would help us win a war. The rules can suck it. But we’re regular Alliance again, with a regular Alliance crew. People report infractions.”

“The _crew’_ s regular Alliance,” Joker said slowly, and “and _you’re_ regular Alliance. But _I_ quit two years ago. So really, I’m just a mad civilian criminal who kidnapped you all.” The dim lighting worked well with his evil grin.

She lifted the hand she held and nipped at it. “Bull. If I’m reinstated, you have to be too.”

“‘Cause you say so?”

“Damn straight. And because the Alliance isn’t going to let a civilian contractor—or kidnapper—keep flying my ship. And I want _you_ flying my ship.”

“ _Our_ ship,” he corrected. “Okay, okay, I’ll let ‘em put me on payroll again. My days as an evil mass kidnapper are through. And we’ll go back to keeping secrets.” He lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “It sucks, but I’m not gonna give ‘em a reason to assign me away from you. _Or_ my ship.”

“ _Our_ ship.”

Important discussion concluded, she kissed him again, looping a hand behind his head to shield him from the uneven metal and pipes running along the inside of the bulkhead of _their_ ship. His hands dropped to her waist, then her hips, pulling her in tighter.

Oh, she’d missed this. She wanted hours; surely she could spare a few minutes. A few minutes in FTL where she could hardly do anything anyway. A few minutes while reapers ravaged earth, while Cerberus did who-knows-what with the partial data they’d stolen from Mars. Joker’s tongue was teasing hers, his hand warm on the back of her thigh, and his smell was familiar, comforting and exciting at the same time, a smell that said ‘home’ as surely as the ship around her. _Just a few minutes._

On the other side of the bulkhead, something clanged. They froze, guiltily.

"Who's the chief engineer?” she whispered. “Do we even have one?"

"Adams," he whispered back.

Adams had been the chief on the Normandy SR1, back when she was first officer.

"Fuuck," her voice was barely a breath against his ear, "That could be awkward."

Joker started to laugh, and she reached for his mouth. He bit the fleshy part of her hand, trying to keep quiet. His silent laugh went from amused to hysterical, the childish absurdity of their immediate situation expanding into the terrifying unreality of the bigger picture, and she was holding him tight for comfort now, his and hers, steadying herself with him as he let out what they both were feeling. Loss. Change. Fear too big to be believed. The joy of being together again; the horror of the circumstances. She bit her own lip to keep the noise in—laughter or crying, she wasn’t sure—and they clung together in the dark, in their world gone mad.

Ten minutes later they were both back on the command deck, neat, calm, and professional. Two key members of a ship at war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Musanocturna, who had the idea for the character swap here and graciously let me steal it.
> 
> The promised reunion has happened, and I'm going to post chapter 6 in two weeks. Beyond that the whole story remains on a purely Westley/Dread Pirate Roberts sort of basis. (New chapter today. Most likely kill it in the morning).


	6. Logistics

By the time they arrived at the Citadel it had been 24 hours since the Reapers attacked Vancouver and Shepard had been awake for 29. She hadn't slept, but she'd showered, and someone had found a set of dress blues that almost fit her and sewed on the correct shoulder bars (she was only a little surprised to learn that 'someone' was Vega).

She’d visited the quiet of her former quarters for all of twenty minutes; just long enough to sluice off, change clothes, and add another thing to her to-do list. The giant cabin she’d occupied before and looked to be occupying again hadn’t changed much, but for reasons known only to ship engineers it had been thoroughly taken apart and only partially put back together.  Pieces of bulkhead panelling lay on the floor, their absence revealing patches of the life support and electrical networks that ran through the ship. The biggest hole was where EDI’s hologram projector had been; the equipment had been removed along with the wall behind it, but no one had gotten around to replacing it with anything.

Rhi stuck her head through the gap into the access-way that ran along the interior of the hull, red-lit by emergency strips, then stepped all the way through. She emerged through another missing panel into the small corridor outside the quarters, walked up behind the waiting Private Westmoreland, and tapped her on the shoulder. The private jumped about a foot in the air.

“At ease, Private,” she said. “And put that hole on the to-do list. Bits of the interior panelling are missing, too. Makes the whole ‘door’ thing kind of irrelevant.”

Westmoreland stopped halfway to a salute and almost lost her grip on her datapad. “Oh, yes, anyone could just walk in!”

“I’m more concerned with safety than my privacy. The _Normandy_ can’t go into combat like this.” The accessways between the habitable areas and the hull were kept aired up and pressurized, but served as buffer zones in emergencies. Normal access was was through fully-sealable hatches: bulkhead panelling _should_ be air-tight. If everything was working properly, the _Normandy_ could take a hit through her outer hull and not lose oxygen—at least, not all at once.

_I suppose I should be glad it has holes I can walk through. Better the obvious problem than the one you don’t see until it’s too late._

Usually one of the last stages for a ship in drydock was all-over pressure testing to find any possible leaks. Shepard wondered when the repairs could be finished, and if they’d have time to schedule at least a chamber-by-chamber test—and if they could afford not to.

When she stepped out of the _Normandy_ ’s airlock into a too-crowded Citadel docking bay, ship-wide pressure testing was only one item on an already-long list of pressing needs. The first priority was seeing Kaidan safely ensconced at Huerta Memorial. After that, things got a bit muddier. Everything was urgent, and she was desperately aware of being only one woman, incapable of being everywhere at once.

 _Crew. Council. Ship_. She filed the various tasks by category as she rode the elevator up to Huerta.

Kaidan had been taken straight from the ship while she was still issuing the last of her orders. By the time she reached the hospital, he’d already been thoroughly gone over. “We have to give him anti-inflammatories and time,” the doctor told her. “Once the swelling has gone down, _then_ we can consider surgery.”

“What kind of time?”

“Days,” she said. “Days until we can really get in and look at the damage.”

She’d feared as much.

Leaving the ward she saw a familiar face: unexpected, but very welcome.

“Chakwas!” Shepard gave the older woman a hug. She was relieved beyond measure to see the doctor was at large, not wasting her talents in a cell somewhere. “What’re you doing here?”

Chakwas hugged her back and smiled. “I’ve been working down in an R&D lab. The news that the Normandy had docked and sent an injured crewman to Huerta got around quite fast. The speed of gossip, you know. I came to see—on the off-chance it was anyone I knew.”

“Kaidan.”

“Yes, I just spoke with the attending physician.” Chakwas shook her head. “An ugly business. But then, it always is.”

Rhi drew her aside, out of the way of the other quietly chatting people in the ward’s waiting area. “You’ve been alright, the past six months? No trouble?”

“Unless you count a Reaper invasion…” Chakwas said drily. “But no. Why, I don’t even know what you could be implying. I returned to my Alliance duties after taking an official leave-of-absence.”

Rhi raised an eyebrow. The doctor had been on the Cerberus _Normandy_ before Shepard had woken up on the operating table. If the Alliance had been sweeping up people with ties to Cerberus, she was certainly on the list.

The doctor’s smile deepened the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. “I have always been very discreet, dear.”

 _Slippery as an eel, more like_. “I’m glad to see you, however it worked out.”

Chakwas’ smile became a frown of concern. “And you… and Jeff. Is he…?”

Even now, thinking about Joker safe in the cockpit of the _Normandy_ flooded her with relief. “Exactly where he belongs, doctor.”

The doctor’s smile was perfectly appropriate to someone hearing good news about a friend, but her eyes twinkled with something unsaid.

“At the _helm_ ,” Rhi clarified. _You were thinking ‘in your bed,’ weren’t you?_ She winked at the doctor, and Chakwas’ eyes crinkled again. There was _definitely_ a wicked gleam in them now.

Rhi chuckled. “It took a hell of a lot of luck, but we both got out, and on the right ship. Adams is aboard as well, from the SR1 days, and Liara, but I’m afraid that’s it for familiar faces.” She grasped at a thin hope. “I don’t suppose you could finagle a reassignment in the next few hours? The _Normandy_ needs a chief medical officer.”

“ _Commander_ ,” Chakwas closed her eyes and sighed, “I simply _cannot believe_ that you would even _think_ of asking me to abandon my _highly_ important research into the Thessian fruit fly for such an uncomfortable and dangerous task.” She looked up, eyes sparkling. “I can have my things there in an hour. The paperwork may take a bit longer.”

The doctor could do things with official forms that made regulations bend like a fraud’s spoons, and keep the brass happy about it. It was a dark art, as far as Rhi was concerned. She was glad Chakwas was on _her_ side.

“I’ll be glad to have you back on board, doctor.” Rhi smiled. “I should go—I’d hate to get in your way when there’s paperwork involved. Could be dangerous.”

“Of course, Commander. We’ll have time to chat in transit, I’m sure.”

“Definitely. I hope you still have your cribbage board.”

Chakwas sighed. “You didn’t use your six month… _enforced rest_ … to take up chess? What a pity.”

“I’m afraid I’ll always disappoint you, doc.” Rhi winked at her and headed for the elevator, considerably brighter than she’d been ten minutes before.

On the ride down her earpiece pinged. “Commander, I reached Councilor Udina. He says the council will see you, but not for another _two hours_.”

The voice on the other end was Communication Specialist Samantha Traynor. Traynor had come to Rhi earlier, near panic, to explain that she’d never been in the field and had no idea what she was doing on a warship—which put her in good company. _Or at least numerous company_.  That she’d been bold enough to step up and admit it was a point in her favor. More importantly, _EDI_ liked her, and if the AI said she was good at her job Rhi was inclined to believe her. She thought Traynor would settle down, which was good—they’d need someone with her skills.

With hours to kill before she could make her plea to the council, Shepard radioed ahead to Alliance Citadel HQ, letting them know she was headed their way with a really impressive shopping list. They’d been apprised of the _Normandy_ ’s arrival as soon as the ship entered the nebula that sheltered the station, but there was nothing like a face-to-face conversation to kick asses into gear.

She hailed a cab and scanned the crew list again in her head as they went. She seemed to have more gaps than people. The _Normandy_ had taken off with a load of highly qualified specialists, a full half of which had never served on a combat ship. She was missing everything from mess officer up to First, there'd been no one doing environmental work that day, so she was only carrying one life support tech, she had a bunch of green privates with no senior NCO to wrangle them...

Vega could take on the duties of a sergeant, if he had to. A bit below his rank, but being in charge of the FNGs might stabilize him. Or maybe she should find a real senior NCO, to stabilize both Vega and the newbies. That'd be better. There was no way around the biggest command problem: she _needed_ an XO. Someone had to command the ship while she was on the ground, or running around playing diplomat.

Her first impulse was to hand the ship off to Joker, but it was an impulse born of working under the almost-nonexistent discipline of Cerberus, with a much smaller crew than was usual for a ship of _Normandy_ ’s size. Joker had the best grasp of space combat she'd ever seen, but he hated being in charge of _people_ —and she needed him at the helm. She just had to make sure she found a First who wouldn't get in his way if it came to combat. Joker needed room to maneuver.

At the ACHQ offices she introduced herself brusquely, using her old rank. The clerk blinked twice and glanced furtively down at his datapad, presumably to double check the flashing “REINSTATED” icon by her name.

“Er, yes, Lieutenant Commander Shepard. You said you had staffing problems?”

She needed another pilot, preferably two. Adams and Chakwas could see to filling the spots in engineering and medical, but the _Normand_ y was also short on life support staff, and they’d need people on the main guns—

“Yeah, I need an XO.” _To sort this shit out for me_. She slapped her own datapad on the table, displaying the roster, such as it was. “I need to know if there are any qualified candidates who could be reassigned. If there’s more than one, I want to meet them first. And I have a list of specialists to be reassigned from their emergency capacity aboard _Normandy_. None of them front-line staff.”

He nodded matter-of-factly and took the pad. “We’ll find places for them. There’s been a lot of shuffling going on in the last 24 hours.” The normally tidy offices offered silent proof of that. Every flat surface was filled with datapads, paper, and hours-old coffee cups, and the larger corridors outside were teeming with people in uniform.

“I can imagine.”

“And we’ve got…” he juggled the pad, an omnitool, and the desk monitor, scanning them all in rapid succession, “Staff Lieutenant assigned to Citadel; may be able to juggle a re-assignment. Another in-between postings; war hit her on her way home. No red flags on her record, but she’s old for the rank—may want to look into that. Oh, and an officer from the marine side just showed up—most of his unit didn’t make it off the colony: they’re being folded into others. Ground command experience only, on that one. Depending on when you head back out, there may be more—we’ve got a lot of ships headed in, since,” his voice wavered, “ _Arcturus_ , but you beat most of them here.”

Shepard closed her eyes briefly, remembering the glimpse they’d had as they dashed between relays. Arcturus, the first and proudest of the Alliance stations, was now only so much orbital debris. The seat of Alliance operations had been destroyed before the reapers jumped through to the Sol relay.

She put it aside. “No orders yet, but better assume I can’t wait around. Get me time with the first two, if you can.” She needed regular navy to balance her skills, not another marine. _And anyone who can fight the ground war shouldn’t be stuck on a ship_.

“Can do. I’ve pinged them to show up ASAP.” He looked up, suddenly less business and more worry. “Er, Commander… the _Normandy_ just came from Earth?”

She answered the unspoken question. “It’s bad, Corporal.” She caught his eye, lending a bit of her determination, and his back straightened. “But this is only the beginning.”

“Yes, ma’am!” His omnitool beeped. “If you have time right now, both officers you wanted to see are in the building, and there’s an empty office you can use. Look’s like Command’s given you access to their records, if you want a few minutes to go over ‘em first.”

Rhi met them both and decided on Staff Commander Nguyen. Like the corporal had said, she was old for the rank—her black hair was liberally threaded with steel gray—but only because she’d taken time off to raise a family. Even with the lapse in service she’d managed to rise to officer from the enlisted rank-and-file. Rhi tried not to let her soft spot for her fellow mustangs cloud her judgement. Nguyen’s record was spotless and solid, but what struck Shepard was that the petite woman positively radiated calm. _If she can keep that up under fire, it’ll be a hell of an asset._

Nguyen was forthright and specific about her own history. "I have always served to the best of my ability, but you should know I'd only held the position as Exec on the Adelaide for five months, and never in combat. Ma'am. I assumed the role when the prior First Officer had some medical trouble, and filled out his remaining stint."

"You'll do better than me. When I was tapped for XO of the _Normandy_ I'd just come from running ground missions. Within a week of setting foot on the ship Anderson was trapped behind a desk and I was in command. Spent every free moment cramming on ship doctrine so I could pass as regular navy, and hoped the crew never cottoned on. Five months experience is damn good, in comparison." Shepard smiled and leaned back in her chair. "I've looked at your record. You're another mustang, right? Spent a lot of time managing green sub-lieutenants before you got your own commission?”

“Junior officers, and then three and a half kids,” Nguyen said with a perfectly straight face.

It took a second for that to sink in. “…and a _half_?”

“Husband.”

Rhi snorted. “Right. Point being, I've got a shipload of green specialists who need that kind of solidity. There’s a lot more hands-on for an XO on a frigate than you saw on _Adelaide_." She tapped the data pad. "And you've spent time in every other area. You'll do fine."

"Every area except ship-to-ship engagement, ma'am."

 _Exactly._ Nguyen couldn't know Shepard saw that as a bonus. "You don't need it. A lot of the crew roster's pretty green, but Joker—Jeff Moreau, First Flight Officer—is rock solid. Choose whether or not to engage and leave the _Normandy_ 's specific action to his discretion. Keep everyone else doing their job, and he'll take care of fighting the ship."

"Isn't that a little... irregular?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Anything about this situation look regular to you? No, no. Look, we both know structure is what keeps people from falling apart when the shit hits the fan. I'm not suggesting we let that go. But I've flown with J—Moreau for years, starting when I had no practical experience of ship combat—and we took down Sovereign. _You_ choose whether to fight or run; just leave him room to figure out _how_. And listen. If he says the ship can do something, she can do it."

Nguyen nodded, appeased. "Understood. May I ask why you haven't tapped him for your XO?"

 _He'd shiv me in my sleep. Though I suppose I could promote him out of the pilot's chair someday if he ever really pissed me off. Or fake it as a practical joke._ Shepard chuckled. "His arena is flying and ship-to-ship tactics, and he's brilliant at both. I want to keep him where's he's brilliant, not promote him to a place he's… less suited for. Trust me. Joker'll take care of things in a pinch, but as XO, managing _people_? It would be… chaos."

"A commanding officer who understands the Peter Principle?" Nguyen offered the first hint of a smile since she'd sat down. "I think I'll enjoy working with you,ma'am."

"Likewise. Command said you were on your way home when the news hit?”

“I was. The _Adelaide_ had just finished a tour, and I was—I _am_ —expecting my first grandchild. My daughter…” she trailed off.

It was too early for condolence and reassurance would clearly be empty, so Rhi just closed her eyes in acknowledgement of pain. It hung there a moment, a vast and leveling uncertainty, and then both women looked back up and resumed their conversation, letting the fear slip by.

Shepard saw to her half of the paperwork, forwarded her new XO information on the crew she’d be working with, and went to bang heads together until she got movement on her ship.

She’d been right to come in person. Her request for urgent repairs, sent from the comm buoy as soon as they entered the system, had been ‘in the queue’. Her actual presence helped convince them to bump it up. It was amazing how fast people started moving when her infamous self was looming over them. _Give the nice mass-murderer what she wants, people_.

It was easier to think of Aratoht now that the reapers had arrived. The reapers boiling out of the Vancouver sky had put her self-doubt to rest. Now she just hoped the six months she’d bought with three hundred thousand batarian lives had actually _gained_ them something.

The embassy level was less crowded than the docks, but not by much. Newscasts were being aired in the lobbies, terse updates delivered as word arrived at the Citadel: Earth invaded, the Batarian Hegemony functionally non-existent, Turian colonies under attack. Strangers of a multitude of species went about their business with hushed voices, as if the war might overhear them and come looking.

She saw one familiar face among the throng. Unfortunately it wasn't a welcome one.

“Commander Shepard!” The elegantly-dressed woman, face heavily made up for vid cameras, rounded on her. “Humanity wants answers!”

 _Don’t we all_. "Al Jilani."

“Ms. Shepard—”

Rhi silently pointed to the officer’s bars once more adorning her shoulders.

“ _Commander_ Shepard.” Al Jilani barely let it interrupt her flow. “How do you justify leaving Earth while it’s under attack? While countless other men and women fight and die to protect it, _you’ve_ left the planet.” Her voice cracked on her last question: “How can you stand here while our families die?”

In their past encounters, Rhi had learned to distance herself from the conversation with Al Jilani. Getting people worked up and defensive was her schtick, and the only way to win was not to play. Now she really listened to her, and saw something she hadn’t expected. Al Jilani’s normally artful outrage was brittle, cracking at the edges. The crafted righteousness hid genuine fear.

Rhi stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder, and held her gaze. “We’ll stop them, Khalisah. We will end this. And we will save as many as we can.”

Al Jilani stopped, startled, and blinked a few times. _Chasing away tears_. “Before they cut the feeds, there were so many dead—” she reached up and slapped a panel on her hovercam, stopping the recording. “ _Damn_ it.”

Rhi gave her shoulder a squeeze and dropped her hand. “It’s bad. But I’m going to do every damn thing I can. And that’s the only thing I can promise.”

The reporter blinked again. “W-why—”

 _Why bother being nice to you when you’ve only ever shouted abuse at me on system-wide television? Because I’ve got bigger fish to fry and playing your game takes too fucking much energy._ And because, she admitted to herself, it was the first time she’d see Al Jilani’s Righteous Reporter facade crack. _She’s just scared. Maybe she was_ always _just scared_.

Rhi shrugged and gave Al Jilani a half smile. "I'm not going to lie and say you're my favorite reporter, but you are a familiar face, and I don't see Ms. Wong around, so—"

" _Emily_ Wong?" Khalisah sounded stricken. "But she—you haven't heard."

"We just arrived on-station." Emily Wong had been stationed on the Citadel the last time they'd met, but that had been nine months ago or more.

Al Jilahni's face fell. "She's dead. On Earth."

"Fuck." Rhi closed her eyes, feeling a wash of grief for a woman she'd barely known. "What a god damn waste. How—" No. She didn't have time for a story; she had an appointment with Earth's representative on the council, a slot with the council as a whole, and a next move to plan. The responsibility of preventing future deaths was more important than the past death of one woman. "I have an appointment to get to. Will you have a moment later? I'd… like to hear what you know."

Khalisah looked genuinely surprised that Shepard might ever volunteer to be in her presence, but she nodded.

Rhi hurried up the embassy steps with heavy heart.

———

Joker sat on a bench in Zakera Ward and listened to news blasts that didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

He’d spent some crappy times on Arcturus station, as a teen in leg braces and as a wreck after the SR1 went down, but there’d been good times, too. It had been home. Now home wasn’t there anymore, just a scattering of debris tracing the orbit it used to have. The observation deck where he used to daydream about piloting, the military research hospital where he’d spent far too much of his childhood, the tattoo shop where he’d shown that he could decide what happened to his body, not just surgeons and specialists… gone. The hub of Alliance operations, gone in the first hour of the war.

Rhi had come up to stand beside him while they transited through the system, a hand warm on his shoulder. She hadn’t said anything, and he was glad. There wasn’t anything to say. He knew her feelings about home were even more mixed than his, but it still couldn’t have been easy to run through the ruin of Vancouver. And now she was off attending to the ship and the council, without even a quiet moment to sort through it all.

 _Which is probably good. I’d be better off right now if I was doing something useful_.

He had no desire to go back and find a task on the _Normandy_. His months on Earth had soured him on sitting in the pilot’s chair of a docked ship. Shepard had already tapped someone to provision them. The ex-fighter pilot who seemed to have taken over the hangar was seeing to armaments and hard equipment. Adams was surely running the legs off his team getting anything engineering needed. There wasn’t much left for a pilot to do when the ship wasn’t running.

He heaved himself off the bench. There might not be much need for a _pilot_ , but he could still be useful. While Shepard was giving the council an earful and making sure the ship had everything necessary, he could take care of things that weren’t, strictly, necessities. Things that Rhi was likely to forget. Things that would become a _lot_ more expensive as the war went on.

Whoever she’d tapped to provision the ship would see to coffee—Thou Shalt Keep Thy Military Caffeinated was probably the first thing they learned in Mess Sergeant school, or wherever it was they went to learn how to make decent ingredients into indecent slop—but Rhi liked _good_ coffee, and that wasn’t in a standard Alliance budget. He found it at a shop in Zakera. The price was steep, but not as steep as it would be when the merchants finally realized the true extent of the war.

Joker bought five pounds of Java and a Central American dark roast, and wondered if either region still existed. The population density of Indonesia would make the islands a target, if nothing else. The mental image of all those people trapped by the sea, with nowhere to run from the reapers, shook him to the core. The salesman had to ask twice where he wanted it delivered. “Normandy SR2, docking bay D24, care of Shepard,” he managed, and ignored the strange looks as he walked out the door.

He’d learned his lesson. When he bought the hot chocolate, he imagined Rhi as she opened it, small smile widening into childlike grin when she saw the marshmallows, and didn’t think about where it came from.

_It’s a big continent with jungles, anyway. They should be fine if anyone is._

Okay, so he wasn’t such hot spit at the ‘Don’t think about pink polar bears’ game. He checked his mental list and headed off again, desperately holding the image of Rhi’s smile as a shield against darker thoughts.

———

Rhi strode into Udina’s office, wanting to stomp and knowing she couldn’t afford to look like a petulant child. For once she and Udina were in accord, for all the good it did them.

She had asked for help for Earth; for people, ships, materiel. She’d hammered the strategic advantage of massing their forces, of fighting one war together rather than four separately. She’d pointed out that surely this was the kind of galactic-scale emergency that the council had been formed to address. And every time, each of the three alien councilors said the same thing.

No.

Not yet.

Perhaps later.

She’d started trying to convince them of the Reaper threat three years ago, and soldiered on through outright ridicule, and now she got _later_. At least they believed her now, for all the good it did. They believed her, and they were so scared that they could only think defensively.

The majority of the Reaper forces, as far as anyone could make out, had hit Earth. The second largest force was eating away at turian space—word that they’d reached the homeworld Palaven had come even as they argued in the council chamber. That they could overwhelm two populous planets and still have enough force left over to worry at the borders of the asari and salarians was terrifying—but _worrying_ , thus far, was all they’d done.

Udina sat down with a curse and rattled off a list of quiet instructions to his aide, a quiet woman with sleek dark hair whom he hadn’t bothered to introduce. Then he gestured to a cabinet behind his desk. “Drink?”

The Councilor position apparently came with some nice perks. She turned away from the tempting display. “Water. Please.” She’d argued her mouth dry. _Should get hydration packs installed in my dress blues. Tough to hide the sip-tube in the collar, though_.

“They’re scared,” Udina said, passing her a tumbler. “Scared and hiding.”

“Our _people_ are scared. _We’re_ doing our best to protect them.” Councilor Sparatus stalked into the room as only turians could stalk.

“Are you?” Rhi asked. They weren’t in the council chamber now, and Sparatus had been a thorn in her side since she first had the incredibly dubious privilege of meeting the illustrious Council. “Pretty hard to win a war playing defense. _Impossible_ in space.” _Especially against a species that can survive_ deep _space. The reapers don’t need trivial things like habitable planets._

“My people are facing the same slaughter yours are, Shepard,” Sparatus said. His vocal overtones were aggressive. Angry. “The colony Taetrus was utterly destroyed. Palaven is under attack.”

“Then you of all people should understand the need to work together, before we’re all chased back to our separate holes.”

Sparatus clicked his mandibles, then flared them. His piercing eyes were still locked to hers. Shepard was pretty good at reading turian body language, after knowing Garrus for so long, and she thought the councilor was preparing to say something he _really_ didn’t like.

Sparatus’ mandibles flared again, and he said “You’re right.”

Rhi took it gracefully. Crowing would have been counter-productive.

Sparatus started pacing. “We cannot hope to defeat a force of this magnitude separately. But I cannot ask my government to withdraw the forces that fight on our very homeworld, anymore than my colleague Councilor Udina would ask you to send aid from Earth to us.” The mandibles flared again. “My people do not like disarray. The Primarch is the only one who can order such a bold action—and Primarch Fedorien is on Palaven, unless he has already reached the moon Menae.

“ _Your_ ship may be able to extract the primarch from the warzone.”

 _And then he’d owe us a big fat favor_. Shepard saw the logic in that at once, but she stayed quiet. Let Sparatus plead a bit, and see what they got.

“He called for a war summit, to pull the rest together, but _it won’t happen_ if he’s trapped on Menae, Shepard. This matters as much for your people as it does for mine. Without the Primarch I cannot even lean on Tevos.”

Rhi nodded, slowly.

A lot of humans thought of the turians as the ur-alien, a constant antagonist, due to their role in the First Contact War. Rhi suspected their species clashed so frequently because they had so much in common. It was amazing how life span affected your world view, and humans and turians could expect about the same century-and-a-bit. Turians moved at a human pace, compared to the mayfly salarians or glacial asari.

They were also the only other species as or more devoted to their military, which made hearing that they were tied down defending Palavin more of a blow than the denials of asari and salarians put together. If they had even a slim hope of gaining turian support…

“Get me your comm codes and everything you have on the situation on Menae. I’ll see what I can do.”

———

“Well?” Joker asked when Shepard stepped out of the airlock. The security doors were open, and he was poking at something on a side console.

“I’m still a Spectre, with all the rights, privileges, and dirty jobs pertaining there-to.”

Joker narrowed his eyes. “I can’t help but notice that doesn’t include ‘substantial military support’ or ‘full fleet mobilized’.”

“Or anything like it.” Rhi shot a meaningful glance at the other crew moving about the CIC. “Save it for later. We have a mission. Are the repair crews done?”

“They gave her the quick-and-dirty, took care of the worst stuff. We’re loaded up and good to go.”

“Good. We’re headed for Palaven. D’you have a backup pilot?”

“Two, assigned an hour and a half ago, on orders of the lovely lady Nguyen.”

Rhi raised an eyebrow.

“She gets stuff done. Gotta like that. And I wasn’t looking forward to being up here 24/7. Starts to smell manky.”

“Ha. Get us a departure slot; I want to be gone within the hour. Once we’re on course for the relay have your relief take over. We’ll need you rested at Menae.”

“Aye aye.” Joker turned to call Station Control, and she headed aft through the CIC.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer, Commander,” Traynor announced as Shepard walked past her station.

Rhi stopped dead in her tracks. “If it’s signed ‘Conrad Verner’ _I don’t want it_.”

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.”

“Not a story, Specialist, just an idiot.”

“Well, it was only initialed, but there wasn’t a ‘C’ or a ‘V’ so you’re probably safe. And, er, I did check for bugs—I know that seems paranoid, and it’s not like the Reapers are likely to send you a package, but I’d feel so stupid if I let anything happen to you just because I don’t know how ships work, and—”

“Well done, Specialist. That’s a very sensible precaution. Did you have someone check for biological threats?”

“Oh, drat, no, I—”

“Yes,” said EDI. “No threats were detected.”

“Thank you, EDI.” Rhi smiled at Traynor. “Biologicals aren’t your department, anyway. Relax, Traynor.”

“Yes, ma’am, I—that’s a _very_ well programed VI, isn’t it?”

Right, the crew thought EDI was _virtual_ intelligence. AIs were illegal in council space, but keeping up that fiction would be difficult. And it would limit EDI. _Fuck the council’s rules, anyway_. Introductions were in order—but not until they’d cleared the Citadel. She kept chatting with Traynor, waiting for the tell-tale hum of the deck under her feet. After awhile Nguyen joined them, listening idly, most of her attention on a datapad. Not surprising with the amount of work Rhi had dumped on her.

“We’ve taken on more crew,” she told Traynor. “Your duties and the chain of command will both get a lot clearer in the next few days. It’ll be easier.”

“But there’s still the Reapers.”

“There’s still the Reapers. What, you want to be out there in space with nothing to do? We’d all go mad.”

Far from being reassured, Traynor looked like she suspected Rhi _was_ already mad.

They got a priority departure; within minutes the Citadel was too distant to be seen with the naked eye. Shepard stepped up to the command platform and toggled the ship-wide PA.

“This is Commander Shepard. We’re headed to Palaven, currently an active war zone. You’ve had a lot of shaking up in the past twenty four hours, so lets get some things straight.

“Many of you have already met Staff Lieutenant Nguyen, our new Executive Officer. Most of you have also worked with the ship’s VI, EDI.EDI is _not_ a VI; she’s a fully self-aware _AI_.” She scanned the CIC, watching for the response. Traynor looked somewhere between gleeful and horrified. Nguyen was just looking at her thoughtfully. _So far, so good._

“As you are no doubt aware, Artificial Intelligences are illegal in Council space. If you have any issues with EDI, or wish to press the legality of her existence here, see me. I apologize on her behalf for any deception.

“Say hello, EDI.”

“Hello, EDI,” EDI said sweetly.

 _Shoulda seen that coming._ “I also apologize for her sense of humor.”

A ripple of surprised laughter ran around the CIC at her dry rejoinder.

“EDI has proven herself an able and responsible member of the _Normandy_ crew.” _She has more field experience than most of you_. “I have no doubt you will learn to appreciate her talents—as you will learn to appreciate and rely on the skills of the team-mates working next to you.”

“Oh my god,” Traynor said, “I said her voice was—was attractive. Multiple times. I—er, EDI, I’m —I’m very sorry.”

“No offence taken, Specialist Traynor,” EDI said.

Traynor’s light brown skin flushed darker all the way up to her hair.

Rhi turned to Nguyen, careful not to let her amusement at Traynor’s reaction show. “I’m serious about that. Chain of command doesn’t hold where EDI is concerned. If anyone makes a fuss about her, kick it up to me.”

Nguyen nodded.

“And that includes you, y’know. If you have any questions, ask.”

Nguyen got that thoughtful look again. “Give me a week. I can’t judge a crewmember until I’ve seen them in action.”

Rhi’s smile only touched her eyes, but it was there all the same. _Hope you heard that, EDI. You’re gonna do okay with her_. “Well said. You have the deck, Lieutenant.”

She headed towards the elevator and the quiet of her quarters—and whatever mysterious package awaited her there.

The air that greeted her when the door slid open smelled not of recycled ship air, but of flowers. They were sitting on her desk—a big vase, top carefully sealed in case of grav failure, holding a riot of yellows, reds, and oranges so bright they almost glowed in the dim cabin. She read the note, then buried her face in them.

It said “With my luck, you’re probably allergic. Love, J.”

———

Joker found Rhi in her quarters, hunched over the desk and staring at the terminal with bleary eyes. He stood behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her gently back from the screen.

“You should get some sleep.” They’d just made the first relay jump, and Nguyen was taking capable charge of the shift. Until he got her message on his omnitool he’d assumed Rhi’d already hit the sack.

She tipped back, resting the top of her head against his belly and looking up at him. “I know. I was waiting for you.”

“Didn’t we just have a talk about discretion?” He brushed her jaw, cradled her cheek, and then leaned over and kissed her upside-down.

She laughed when his beard tickled her nose. “There’ll hardly be a better time to go unnoticed. Half the crew switched out. No one knows who’s who yet, let alone what bunk they’re supposed to be in.”

 _Can’t argue with that_. Not that he wanted to. “Okay. So shut that down and come to bed.”

“Yes, _sir_.”

The light on the bedside table made a warm pool around them as they knelt on the bed, a little bubble away from the outside world. They helped each other undress, slowly, re-exploring what had been familiar. Rhi’s fingers brushed softly over the tattoos on his shoulders and across his chest, lingering on newly defined lines of muscle. “You’ve been working out.” It was almost a purr.

“Mmmhm.” He traced his hands down her body, soft curves and hard planes, sculpted abs and wide hips. Bruises were just starting to color her shoulder, cool dark smudges on the warm brown skin. He hunted them all out, brushing careful kisses over each one, so he could be sure to avoid them in any way that would hurt.

“Vancouver,” Rhi said by way of explanation. “Charging without armor isn’t the best idea, apparently.”

“Yeah. Try to avoid that next time, okay?” He kissed her neck, the hot, tender pulsepoint under her jaw. Just the warm Rhi smell of her was enough to make him more content than he’d been in months. He burrowed into the curve of her neck and ran his hands down her arms—and stopped.

There was scar tissue on her forearm: fresh, smooth scar tissue, where he remembered only a thin line healed so neatly it was almost invisible.

Rhi froze.

“What is it, babe?” He looked up from her shoulder, trying to see her eyes, but she turned her face away.

“Nothing.”

She seemed to withdraw into herself, pulling away without moving. He looked down at the scar. His fingers hadn’t lied. It was only a few months old, surgical straight. He moved his hand away, since it obviously bothered her, and reached around her waist instead—and found another too-big scar.

She tensed still more.

 _What did they do to you?!_ He was shaking with anger. Six months of pent anger at the stupid injustice of their imprisonment, anger at not being able to be there for her. Anger at whatever _bastard_ had left those scars. He pulled her in tight against his chest, one finger through the wavy curls of her shorn hair. “ _Talk_ to me, Rhi.”

She unfroze and hugged him back, arms wrapped as tightly around him as his were against her. “Yes,” she whispered. If her mouth hadn’t been right next to his ear he’d never have heard her. “But _not tonight_.”

“Okay,” he breathed, and she relaxed. He held her close until the last of the tension bled away and her hands started moving again, nails tracing lines down his back, then he leaned back enough to kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss, or a whole line of kisses rolled into one, almost parting and then coming together again until they were breathing the same hot breath. He was hard and aching for her, and she was moaning against his mouth, and then she tumbled them backwards onto the covers and wrapped her long legs around his back, and he slid into her, as close as it was humanly possible to be.

They held each other a long time after they were sated and spent, and he finally fell asleep curled around her back, lulled by the feel of her steady breathing into the best rest he’d had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhiannon87 and Jillyfae for beta-reading!
> 
> The next chapter will be posted two weeks from today (February 26).


	7. Old Friends

_Normandy_ slipped through the Reaper fleets around Palaven like a shadow, discharging a shuttle as she swept low over the moon Menae. Shepard, Vega, and three marines went into the war zone. They came back with three turians: the Primarch, his personal guard, and Garrus Vakarian. It wasn’t the Primarch they’d been sent to find: that turian lay dead somewhere on Palaven. His successor had fallen on Menae. When Shepard and her team had fought their way through to _this_ turian, he hadn’t even known that the title had passed down to him. The new Primarch still looked a bit shell shocked, though he hid it it behind grim determination.

Garrus, though, looked right at home as he stepped aboard the _Normandy_. He came up to chat with Joker just after he made the first relay jump.

“Joker! Been a long time.” He leaned against a bulkhead. “So, you and Shepard still…?”

Joker turned towards him, rolling his eyes. “What the hell, Garrus? You just got snatched out of a war zone, happened to be in the right place at the right time to end up _here_ again... and the first thing you ask about is my _love life_? I’m kind of flattered. Or disturbed.”

“You have trouble telling which? Must not get complimented too often.” Garrus chuckled. “Look at it this way. Maybe I was asking about _Shepard_ ’s love life.”

Joker nodded. “Yup, see, that’s normal. Famous Spectre and all.”

“And infamous.”

Joker sighed. “Yeah. Well.”

“I’m in no place to judge,” Garrus said. “Not that I would, anyway. So, know anything about this summit?”

“Not really. Know anything about this Victus?”

“Victus… _Primarch_ Victus… seems like a good man. Clever general.” Garrus gave the turian equivalent of a shrug. “But the entire time I’ve known him we’ve been being shot at. Limits the scope of conversation.”

“I bet.” Joker scowled at his instruments. “Hopefully he’ll be less idiotic than the council, anyway.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Shepard didn’t give you an earful already? We came screaming for help, and they told us they were going to go home and lock their doors and hope the bad guys didn’t notice them, basically. Coming to get your dude was the only hope we had for some kind of action. Oh, and, y’know, kinda cool we got you in the bargain, I suppose. War should be a piece of cake, now.”

“Naturally.” Garrus clicked his mandibles. “I’d hoped for better from the Council. Not expected it, mind you, but even an _idiot_ should see that this war requires a unified front.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’ll be more convincing coming from your Victus than from Shepard, ‘cause she didn’t get through to ‘em when she said the same thing.”

———

On Menae Shepard had faced a reaper chimera bigger than a car, a monstrous grotesquerie that knocked soldiers aside like bowling pins. She’d run up almost under it to get a clear shot at the comparatively tiny once-turian head, and dove out of the way as it crashed down where she had been.

Back on the _Normandy_ , she was doing everything she could to avoid a vid call.

She’d known what to do with the brute. It was big, and it was ugly, and the head that was so grossly out of scale could’ve belonged to an alien friend of hers, once—but all she had to do was kill it. Simple.

Speaking with Admiral Steven Hackett again was _not_ going to be simple.

Instead, her brisk strides took her down to the engineering level and the small cargo hold she’d suggested Liara use. It was the same space Zaeed had claimed, but now ranks of monitors filled the walls that had previously held a knife target and weapon racks. Every corner was crammed with computer equipment except the alcove where Liara’d made her rack, and Rhi wasn’t going to bet against a bit more tech hidden under the cot. Away from the chatter of the crew deck and the bustle of the CIC, Liara had a whole mini Shadow Broker set-up.

Rhi stopped in the door. “Where did you get all this stuff?” Liara hadn’t had so much as a handbag when they’d fled Mars. Rhi considered making a crack about computers concealed in bodily orifices, but Liara probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

“I set up emergency caches in various places. One was on the Citadel.”

“Smart.” Rhi leaned against the door jam, looking at monitors full of data that meant nothing to her. “Anything new on your secret weapon?”

“Indeed. I’ve been sending updated information to Admiral Hackett and the Citadel Council as I decipher it. To build this… Shepard, the amount of resources required will be immense. One species alone cannot do it.”

 _An immense amount of resources that_ won’t _be going to the rest of the war effort_.

Liara must have sensed her uneasiness. “I know the protheans believed it would work, Shepard. They just started too late to complete it.” Liara narrowed her eyes at Rhi. “I also know that Hackett wants to speak with you.”

“Of course. I’ve had a lot on my plate.” She waved it aside casually, but Liara had been her last reasonable excuse. Her first ‘official’ meeting with Primarch Victus wasn’t for two hours. The delay was to give him time to ‘settle in’—ostensibly to his guest quarters but more truthfully to his new role as leader of his entire species. She had every sympathy for Victus, but the delay meant she couldn’t put the call off any longer.

She told Liara to keep her posted and stomped off to the war room communications suite.

The comm room had to be the most expensive addition the Alliance had made to the _Normandy_. The Illusive Man’s Quantum Entanglement Communicator had been an impressive expense—of undeniable value for a _fleet_ , but mostly a testament to the Illusive Bastard’s vanity. The Alliance had expanded the hardware to suit a flagship, replacing the entangled particles with a new device that allowed for multiple entangled sets. Or so Traynor had explained to her, happily in her element and babbling like a brook, until Shepard had finally drawn the line on tech talk.

What mattered was that she could talk to multiple people across vast distances, instantly—provided they were on short and shrinking list. The lights indicating Arcturus, the flagship of the Second Fleet, and Vancouver CentCom were dark, their ends of the paired connections obliterated.

Rhi scowled at the mess of her shorn hair in the blurry reflection on an instrument panel and stepped into the transmittal area. “Traynor, get me Admiral Hackett.”

Her salute when his image shivered into view was precisely regulation.

Hackett nodded. “Shepard. You received my message? I’ve made Anderson’s verbal reinstatement official, and given you emergency permissions to act diplomatically on the Alliance’s behalf.”

She nodded, just barely, a muscle in her jaw tensing.

“Have you retrieved Primarch Fedorian?”

“Primarch Victus. Fedorian was killed.” _Just the facts_. _Look straight ahead. Forget it’s Hackett._

“Noted. What matters is willingness to participate in this summit. I’ve spoken with Udina and the turian councilor. You’re to head directly for the Prana System.” Hackett squared his shoulders and looked at her, gauging her reaction. “ _Normandy_ will serve as a neutral meeting ground. I’m relying on you to get them to an agreement, Shepard.”

She’d been looking fixedly over his right shoulder, but now she stared at him, shocked.

_What kind of agreement? What’s my leverage? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, I regularly piss off the whole council. They said I was a fucking terrorist not six months ago!_

“Why _me?_ Send me to fight.” Her hands clenched into fists. “I’ve never been good at politics and I’m sure as _hell_ not any better now!”

Hackett scowled. “There will be krogan involved—you’ve had more interaction with them than most. And who else would you suggest? Udina has his hands full, and he doesn’t speak strategy. You want an ex general, a military counselor, a practical politician?” His voice rose in anger. “ _So do I_. They were all blown to hell with Arcturus.”

He was right, and she hadn’t put it together, which made her feel stupid. She didn’t want him to be right. She wanted to be _angry_.

His gaze was intense now, even pixelated and filtered through the QEC blue. “You were the first person to recognize the Reaper threat, you’ve proven you can get things done, and you’re a Spectre. If anyone can get the other species on board with this weapon, this Crucible project, _you_ can. Convince them, Shepard.”

“The _Crucible_.” She tested the word in her mouth. It was over-poetic. “You think this thing can work?”

“Your friend Doctor T’soni does.”

“Liara is a brilliant researcher. She’s become a great info broker. She’s _not_ a weapons specialist.” A little more of the anger slipped out. “We don’t even know what the fuck the thing’s supposed to do!”

“We have a lot of people looking at it. Our top engineers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “With all due respect, your top engineers are the same place your top negotiators are. In frozen pieces around Arcturus.”

Hackett rounded on her, appalled. “That isn’t true, and it’s beyond callous. Damn it, Shepard. What the hell are you playing at? I gave you your orders.”

“I’m not playing.” _Of all the fucking questions._ Her jaw was tight, her heart hot rage and her spine ice. “Are you? Last time I acted on your _assurances_ it didn’t work out so fucking well.”

Hackett almost stepped back from the force of her anger, but he corrected fast, squaring his shoulders as if for a fight.

“I have _never_ sent you knowingly into a trap, Shepard. I don’t play games. If the situation is bad, I’ve told you. Aratoht was a mess—but I _didn’t know_.”

“It was your _job_ to know!” It came out louder than she’d intended, months of frustration boiling out, her voice jumping higher on the word ‘job’. It was stupid, _stupid_. If Hackett hadn’t sent her, the Reapers would’ve arrived six months earlier. In the end there’d been no good options, and they both knew it. Given the choice she wouldn’t change her actions. But she was so _angry_.

She pulled herself together with an act of will. Now her voice was low, intense. “I acted for you, I came back to ‘face the music’ for you. Do you think it is easy to do something for _you_ now?”

“And I fought like hell to keep you away from a batarian firing squad!” Hackett was shifting from side to side, his own frustration clear. “So you were on ice for awhile! Was Vega really that bad?”

She was suddenly cold. Shivering. She crossed her arms under her breasts, wanting to hug herself warmer and not willing to show that much weakness. _Control._ “You don’t even _know_ , do you? Fuck.” A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up. She swallowed it. “Who the hell was running that prison? Anyone? Was I just a mess that fell through the paperwork?” She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t say the worst hurt. _I was so lonely_. It sounded pathetic, even in her head. She felt it again, just thinking it, the awful yawning gulf of isolation, and wished Joker was there—and then she didn’t, because she couldn’t have handled his anger in addition to her own, and his support would have broken down the fury that was keeping her upright and facing Hackett. “I’ve been on an Alliance prison ship, Admiral, and they _didn’t_ starve anyone and they _didn’t_ open them up to see what made them tick!”

This time Hackett did step back. The hind half of his image clipped off as he retreated out of the narrow pick-up field of his half of the QEC. “I—god damn it. There was politics, batarians, the Council—”

He stopped hard and drew in a slow deep breath. “We did our best, Shepard.” Hackett closed his eyes and bowed his head. “And clearly my best wasn’t good enough. I’m sorry.”

The edge of her rage, the hard urge to fight and _hurt_ drained out of her. The anger wasn’t gone, but just like that he’d pulled the worst of its teeth. She hadn’t known how much she needed to hear those words. It didn’t change _anything_ , but… it helped.

Hackett sighed. “Please, Shepard. It’s hell out there. We need everything we can. Do your best. It’s damn good.”

Rhi nodded silently.

She stood a moment in the dim comm suite after the call clicked off, centering herself. She wanted to hide in the cockpit with Joker until she felt _solid_ again, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She couldn’t make herself ready to deal with the diplomats, or even, apparently, with Hackett, but she could damn well make sure her crew was ready for anything _they_ faced. They could spend their FTL transit drilling until she knew she could count on them—or more importantly, until they knew they could count on themselves.

———

Joker went down to dinner feeling nicely smug. He’d finally managed to impress Lieutenant Nguyen in the drills. Not much, and only by going above and beyond with a simulation program he and EDI had cooked up that required him to both fly the ship _and_ respond to the fake emergency, but anything was better than that aloof, speculative look that had been all she turned his way so far.

Joker got his tray and took a seat, then looked down the table, trying to put jobs to faces. Chief Engineer Adams was an old acquaintance from the SR1 days. Good guy. The others… he recognized many of those who’d been aboard the _Normandy_ when he took off, but none of them had been exactly buddy-buddy with the criminal, and about a third of them had remained at the  Citadel, anyway. The _Normandy_ had gained half again as many, seasoned people hurriedly reassigned from ACHQ. It was a lot of new faces to learn.

He’d never have Shepard’s knack for remembering names, but he was paying more attention to the crew than he’d used to. Probably Rhi rubbing off on him.

 _Rubbing off. Heheh_. Pleasant thoughts aside, the crew hadn’t done too badly today. They hadn’t done _well_ , but he’d been afraid it would be a lot worse. Adams was going to need to work his crews; the engines weren’t giving all they should be in a pinch. And Joker was pretty sure he’d heard one of the newbs he’d kidnapped from Earth R&D swear a blue streak instead of responding with ‘Aye aye.’ When Samantha Traynor came down to the crew deck she was so hopped on adrenaline she was practically vibrating, and she didn’t even have a _job_ in most of the scenarios they’d run.

When Shepard arrived the seats across from him were already full, but they cleared like magic when she suggested they make a hole. One of the life support techs sitting nearby frankly stared at the mountain of food on her plate. Rhi watched him, impassive, until he realized what he’d been doing, raised his eyes from his plate to her face, and about fell backwards out of his seat in panic. Then she tucked in with total unconcern. The man blushed bright red and diligently attacked his own food, hunkering low over his plate as if he could melt into the table.

Dinner was pasta and sauce-from-a-can: your basic impossible-to-fuck-up high calorie grub. Either Nguyen hadn’t been able to find someone to head the mess, or they were too busy sorting the hastily loaded provisions to be able to actually cook. A trio of harried privates had been dragooned into the task instead.

Shepard narrowed her eyes at her plate, prodding something with her fork. She set down the fork and suddenly a knife was in her hand instead; not the dulled cutlery from the galley, but a rugged combat switchblade unfolded to nine inches of sharp steel. She stabbed the offending morsel and held it in front of her. The congealed-and-burnt wodge of pasta hanging from the tip was totally outmatched.

She leaned back and caught the eye of one of the other new officers. “Step over to the galley and inform the crew on duty that there is nothing in pasta that should require a knife.”

Adams was chuckling, but everyone at the table who didn’t know Shepard was staring at the knife she hadn’t even been holding a moment before.

Shepard ignored the awed looks from the crew, but Joker wasn’t fooled. She’d done it for just that response: she was an incurable show off, and she liked it best when she could play it totally cool. _That’s my girl._

Joker got a thrill watching people react to her. Yes, it was a little possessive and a lot smug, but give a guy his simple pleasures. He couldn’t kiss her in the mess, or reply to orders with endearments (though the look on her face’d be pretty funny if he did), but he could at least enjoy being In The Know about her little tricks. And brush her leg with his foot under the table.

 _Thank goodness she has long legs_. Otherwise he’d have to worry he was accidentally getting friendly with that poor engineering hand’s ankle instead. That’d be a weird way to start a mission.

Shepard looked up through lowered lashes and caught his eye briefly, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Yup, that had definitely been her and not the engineer, then. _Sighs of relief all around_. Joker ran his ankle up her calf. “So, there _is_ something you won’t eat. Who knew?”

She shrugged. “The rat was at least chewable. Good protein on a rat.”

“You’ve eaten _rat_?”

The rat _always_ got a rise out of someone. This time it was a computer systems tech to Joker’s right.

“Once or twice,” she said. “When needs must, Specialist.”

“Still eminently practical,” Adams said. “Glad to be back aboard with you, Commander.”

“Likewise, Adams.”

“Quite the reunion tour, isn’t it?” Chakwas said, approaching the table. “Good evening, Greg. Commander, if you don’t have other pressing duties, would you care to join me for a game or two this evening?”

“Gladly. Got a few things to take care of, but I’ll come along later.”

Chakwas smiled and moved off, making her own overtures to the crew.

Rhi often worked on things in the medbay in the evenings. Joker didn’t really get how anyone could voluntarily subject themselves to Hospital Smell, but she liked Chakwas company, and it kept her out-of-the-way while still visible. And tonight it’d give Joker a perfect excuse to spend some time with her. He’d known the doctor even longer than he’d known Rhi—though obviously not as _thoroughly_ —and he hadn’t managed more than a hurried ‘hey’ since she’d come back to the ship. _Obviously_ he’d have to stop by. Some things were worth the Hospital Stench.

When he wandered over to the med bay a few hours later he found Rhi with a mug in her hand and her feet up on a box of something labeled ‘biohazard’, busy with a datapad. She smiled when he entered.

Chakwas stood and briefly took one of his hands in both of hers, then looked him up and down with observant doctor’s eyes. “My, you look well!”

The slight blush that threatened to spread up his cheeks had nothing to do with Chakwas and everything to do with Rhi making a similar observation in private. He _was_ looking good, at least for him, but given the people Rhi worked with, hell, the body she had, he’d never even thought she’d notice. The pleasure he’d felt at her remark flooded back. Rhi grinned at him over the doctor’s shoulder, clearly remembering the same thing.

Joker abruptly recalled himself to the med bay and Chakwas, and shrugged. “There wasn’t a lot to do in my downtime, what with the whole ‘prisoner’ thing and all. I spent a lot of time in the gym. All it takes to make PT look good is a little _jail_. Who knew? ”

Chakwas sniffed. “We’ll have to see about having you incarcerated more often.”

He held up both hands and started backing away. “No, no! I’ve developed new habits! I’m a changed man!”

“I’ll bet.” Chakwas chuckled. “I’ve been down to check out the exercise and recreational facilities. They are… adequate. Certainly better than that which Cerberus failed to provide.” She gestured at the last empty station chair. “Have a seat. Would you like some cocoa?”

“Sure.”

Chakwas busied herself at a hot plate where a beaker of water warmed. “I understand the chocolate is your doing? I suspect that will be harder to come by in days to come.” She handed him a mug and glanced towards Shepard. “Now, not to be indelicate, but one does like to know how things lie before one puts one’s foot in one’s mouth. Are you and the Commander still…?”

He looked up at Rhi, but she kept her gaze resolutely downward, only a twinkle through her lashes betraying her.

“Not doing anything that would get anyone in trouble? Absolutely. Definitely us.”

“Jeff.”

He tried an innocent look. He was still getting nothing from Rhi, who was sipping her cocoa and _pretending_ to be engrossed in her reading. _Shit, give me a little help here, babe!_

Chakwas stuck her nose in the air. “Confidences discussed in my medbay do not _leave_ my medbay, as well you know. I am the paragon of trust and the soul of discretion.”

“You’re a busybody who isn’t happy unless she’s sticking her nose in something.”

Rhi’s shoulders shook a little at that.

Chakwas put a hand to her heart. “You wound me. Is this any way to treat an old friend?”

“You’re an evil woman, doctor,” Rhi said, chuckling. “She’s playing with you, Joker. She already asked me.”

“ _She’s_ evil? _You_ could’ve mentioned that little detail at any time, y’know.”

Rhi grinned at him, unrepentant.

“Give an old woman her little joys,” Chakwas said, smiling. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. I’m pleased for you.And I’m happy to opaque the windows and occupy myself elsewhere, if you’d like.”

It took Joker a second for her meaning to click, and then he blushed clear up to his hat.

Rhi just said “I think we’ll save that for an _emergency_. Thanks, though.”

The doctor turned and shared some sort of look with her, though Joker couldn’t see through the back of her skull and probably couldn’t have interpreted it if he could. He plunked himself down in the offered chair, muttering to his cocoa about evil women. “The things they put me through.”

The door opened and Garrus walked in. “Hope you don’t mind if I crash your party,” he said, “I can only take so long among the high and mighty.”

“They’re tormenting me,” Joker said.

“You probably deserve it,” Garrus said amiably.

“Join us.” Rhi gestured generously to a medbed. All the chairs were taken. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve got dextro drinks.”

“I can offer you an emergency rehydration packet, or water,” Chakwas confirmed. “And I’m glad to see you safe and sound, Mr. Vakarian. Quite serendipitous to find you here again!”

Rhi snorted. “After finding him on Omega I’ve started expecting him to pop up. Like a bad penny.”

“You usually need all the help you can get.” The turian leaned back against a medbed and turned his head so Chakwas could see his scarred right profile. “It’s been almost an Earth year, doc. Thought you might want to see how your handiwork washolding up.”

Chakwas sighed. “You know, you _could_ have just visited. You didn’t need to throw a war as an excuse.”

“Well, I don’t like to do things by halves.” Garrus grinned. “Funny. It was the four of us at the beginning against the Collectors, too, remember? That night of drinks in Shepard’s cabin, just the faithful four.” Garrus sighed. “Ship feels a bit empty, though.”

Chakwas shrugged. “You can hardly expect the same… interesting characters… who went on one suicide mission to magically turn up whenever you come aboard the _Normandy_.”

“I’d just hate to throw a war and not have my friends show up.” Garrus sighed. “You know how it is. All that wasted effort. The invitations. The catering.”

“Maybe they’re just fashionably late,” Joker offered.

Rhi raised her mug. “To old friends,” she said, “Those here, and those elsewhere.”

———

Ness was ready to give up.

She’d worked _hard_ to get back to normal after the kidnapping. The counseling had helped—it had helped a _lot_ —and she’d thrown herself back into her studies. Her mother still just about burst into tears whenever she called, but she was almost able to deal with that, too.

Then the war had come, and now all her carefully reconstructed normalcy seemed like a thin charade. What was the fucking _point_?

She shifted in her chair, looking out at thecool Elysium autumn, and the too-big leather jacket she wore creaked. It had been Rhi’s. Someone in the Alliance had sent it to her after Shepard died. There’d been a form letter about lack of next-of-kin and disposing of Shepard’s personal effects with a scribbled note on the bottom signed ‘Geltz’. Ness didn’t even know who that was, let alone how they knew about her.

Ness had stuffed the jacket in a closet and tried to forget it: a morbid memento of a woman she hadn’t even known, who’d been a teenager she only vaguely remembered. That the jacket was still at least a size too big for her just made it feel as if she’d never really grown up. The phantom-Rhi was still older and bigger and stronger than her, someone to take care of her… and then vanish completely. Her death was the only news of her Ness had heard in over ten years.

When Rhi had come striding through that warehouse door, older and harder and deadly but _alive_ and still clearly _Rhi_ , Ness had been beyond shock. Being strapped to a bomb would do that to you. Seeing your imaginary friend come back from the dead? That was just icing on the cake. The _bomb_ cake.

Afterwards, Ness had _meant_ to send her back the coat, but she’d never quite managed it. Somehow the jacket—which belonged to a part of Rhi’s life Ness had never seen, before she’d died and been resurrected—helped remind her that it was all real. Besides, Ness told herself, Rhi’s permanent address was a spaceship, and she’d have to send it by way of Dr. T’soni, and it’d probably get lost in the mail somewhere, and that’d just be stupid..

She only started _wearing_ it when she started carrying the gun.

She’d asked Liara, when she was staying with her on Illium, about the best weapon for someone learning to shoot. The pistol had shown up on her doorstep, wrapped in foam and brown paper, soon after she returned home. It had that understated elegance that screamed ‘money’, even to someone as ignorant of arms as she was. There was no return address, but there was a note inside from Liara. It said “Practice makes adequate.”

Ness hated being at the receiving end of charity yet again. Rhi had saved her life, and then Liara had put her up for days, showing her the sights of Illium and treating her to the best meals Ness had ever had. Liara’d even paid for Ness’s return ticket home. _First class_. Obviously Dr. T’soni was more than well off, and Ness was living on grad student wages—she’d have had to buy a ticket on credit and sleep in the hold. But she hated always being a moocher.

At least Ness had set up the lessons herself. She’d found a shooting range and started going twice a week, first with private instruction, then on her own. She’d had to take in extra work to pay for it—tutoring, mostly—and she barely had time to sleep, but she’d managed. She wasn’t an idiot, and if she had been the utter disdain in Rhi’s voice when she mentioned people who had guns and didn’t know how to _use_ them would have been motivation enough.

Ness was nothing if not dedicated. She wasn’t a crack shot, but even at her most self-critical she knew she was competent. And learning to shoot was a step towards getting control over her life. Her heart still jumped into her throat whenever anyone rang the doorbell of her apartment; she still started to shake whenever someone happened to follow her for more than a block, even on a busy street. But it helped.

It was very, very illegal to carry it with her on campus. That was where the jacket came in. It had probably been sleek and fitted on Rhi, but on Ness’s smaller frame there was ample room to conceal the pistol. She noticed the weight in the shoulder holster every time she moved, but her fear of being caught by the authorities was outweighed by her determination not to be helpless if she was attacked again—by mysterious thugs from her past, new enemies of Rhi’s, or by reapers.

The latter was seeming more likely with every newscast, and her little pistol seemed smaller and smaller.

Ness turned back to her terminal and scowled. She had fifty papers to grade for the class she was TAing, a lesson plan to develop for the one she was teaching next semester, and her own research paper to work on—her first as first author. She should’ve been well into the excited/panicked/overwhelmed stage of her career: busy grad student _this_ close to a masters and already heading on to post-doc, in a field that hadn’t existed forty years ago. How cool was that? But xenolinguistics, which had seemed so important, felt meaningless.

_It doesn’t matter how well we communicate. We’re all going to die._

Her therapist had said that kind of pessimism was depression talking, but that was before Dr. Evans had received word of her own family’s death on Earth, and cancelled all of her patient appointments to deal with her own grief.

Ness’s office mate arrived, balancing a stack of datapads, a cup of coffee, and two donuts filched from the staff room. She was babbling about something one or another professor had done. Ness ate the slightly-stale donut and watched the sky, wondering when the enemy ships would come out of the cloud cover and they could all stop pretending to be normal.

The building’s PA was so rarely used that when it crackled to life both she and Tammy jumped in their seats. Tam’s coffee spilled across the desk. Ness’s hand was in her jacket, fingers wrapping around the warm grip of the gun, before the words even registered.

“Attention. This is not a drill. All staff and students are to proceed to basement levels. Remain calm. This is not a drill.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a struggle, and a lot of it was left on the cutting room floor. Thanks, Rhiannon87, for sticking it out with me, and being willing to say "Yes, that bit really has to go."


	8. Elysium

Kaidan woke to sounds that were too loud and lights that blurred and shifted with every shake of his bed, which seemed to happen whenever anyone passed by in the corridor outside. He closed his eyes against too much light and motion and drifted back into a painful sleep.

When he woke again a nurse was standing over him. He summoned the doctor as soon as he realized Kaidan was awake.

“Mr. Alenko. Good to see you up. You’re in Huerta Memorial Hospital, on the Citadel. Do you remember where you were before?”

Kaidan blinked at him muzzily.

 _Thruster roar and wind howl and blown grit._ The shuttle coming at him, nowhere to go.

He didn’t remember the moment of impact. Small mercies.

“Mars,” he croaked. His throat was dry. His hand ached dully: he was getting fluids through an IV, then.

The doctor nodded. “Yes—you were pretty banged up. We’ll need to keep you here awhile longer yet. You were very lucky—no broken vertebrae—but your right clavicle is cracked... and I’m afraid you needed minor brain surgery.”

Kaidan sighed. “Again?”

The doctor smiled. “Only a biotic could approach _brain surgery_ with that kind of attitude. You’ll be pleased to know that everything is fine. We just had to relieve some swelling near the implant. I _strongly_ recommend avoiding any biotic emanation for the next week, at least. The broken bone will need at least that much time, as will the soft tissue injuries.”

Kaidan tried to nod and stopped when the world started swimming.

“Pain medication,” the doctor said. “May be making you a little woozy. The dispensing trigger is right there, the nurse call button is there, and I strongly suggest you sleep and let your body do its work.”

Kaidan was happy to follow the doctor’s orders. For the next two days he drifted in and out of sleep, woken at odd intervals by nurses who wanted to check everything despite the bevy of machines constantly reporting on his vitals, and drifting off again as soon as they’d left.

By the third day after he’d woken he was barely touching the pain meds, and they removed the IV.

By the fourth day he started to worry. Shepard had taken the _Normandy_ back out before he’d even gone into surgery, and the hospital staff spoke in tense whispers about the war, but otherwise he knew _nothing_.

He tried watching the news—there was a monitor over his bed—but the video threatened to trigger a migraine, and he had to turn it off.

By the fifth day he was worried, tense, and _bored_. He tried the TV again, closing his eyes against the images and just listening, but it was normal civilian news—brief updates that contained a lot of emotion but not much actual information. There were Reapers. It was bad.

That day, after a nurse had come by on afternoon rounds, a stranger tapped on his door.

“Major Alenko?” The woman standing at the door wasn’t anyone he’d seen before: average height, dark hair slicked severely back from her forehead, ends curling down toward her jaw. “I’m Eva Coré, one of Councilor Udina’s assistants. We know you’re not yet ready to return to service, but thought you might like to be updated on the war effort.”

 _God, yes_. Kaidan pushed himself up in bed, thankful that he’d been promoted to a real shirt, and tried to look more alert. “Come in. What’s going on out there?”

Ms. Coré stepped inside. Her manner was formal, and she averted her eyes from his face.

 _Okay, so looks aren’t my strong point right now_. The worst of the bruising had faded, but the remaining shadows made his face look misshapen. “Please, sit.” He gestured one-handed to the visitor’s chair.

“I’m sorry; I have pressing duties. However, this pad contains a summary of recent events suitable to your security clearance level.”

Kaidan took the datapad, grateful but confused. “Wait—not that I don’t want to know what’s going on, but why are you telling me this?” Strangers didn’t just come to a wounded soldier’s bedside and hand out information. Their CO might, maybe—but not once they’d been so thoroughly sick-listed that they ended up in a whole different billet. In the normal way of things he’d have had to rely on the news like anyone else, with the occasional extra information from an all-service bulletin.

Coré inclined her head. “Councilor Udina has requested that you be detailed to the embassy when you are fit for light duty. He felt it best that you be kept abreast of events until that time. Your security clearance has been elevated accordingly.”

She left as abruptly as she’d appeared, but Kaidan didn’t mind. He had the datapad, and he dove into it.

A lot of it was about Shepard. She’d been busy—and not doing anything he’d have expected. _Mediating diplomatic negotiations?_ _Wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for that_. Shepard was good with people, sure, but that was a far cry from being good with _politics_. And politics involving the turians, salarians, and the krogan genophage… that was heavy shit.

On the other hand, she had encountered it before… he thought back to Virmire, and a conversation he’d mostly forgotten. Before they attacked Saren’s research facility, before the brutal fight to plant a more brutal bomb. Before one of the best soldiers he’d ever had the pleasure to serve with had died.

Usually, when he thought about Virmire, he thought of Ashley Williams, fighting that last desperate defense, alone. He still thought, sometimes, that he should’ve died in her place. She’d had so much _spark_. Her death overshadowed everything else that happened on that eventful planet—as it deserved to. But before Ash had died, before they’d started their attack, Shepard had faced down Urdnot Wrex on the question of the genophage—and the krogan warrior had bowed his great head and conceded. It had been the right call, in the end—the ‘cure’ Saren claimed was nothing more than a cut-rate cloning process, part of an attempt to make a brainwashed krogan army—but none of them had known that then.

Later, while Kaidan was still sunk in grief, Shepard and Wrex had talked for a long time.

Urdnot Wrex was now leader of the clans of Tuchanka.

_Maybe Shepard isn’t such a bad choice for negotiator after all._

The upshot of her efforts (marked CLASSIFIED: SENSITIVE INFORMATION) was that the salarians were releasing experimental data and— _test subjects? Really? Holy wow_ —to the krogan.

They were promising to _cure_ the genophage.

Kaidan set the pad down on the bed to let that soak in. One of the defining issues of the current galaxy, a great ethical dilemma, dissolved just like _that_. Either a massive war crime had just been undone, or an unstoppable juggernaut unleashed on the galaxy, depending on how you looked at it. _Or both._ Krogan would be returned to their prior rate of procreation.

And they’d fight on Palaven.

_Wait. Palaven?_

He picked up the pad again. His brow furrowed, but the words didn’t change. The promised krogan forces were headed not to Earth, but to _Palaven_.

 _Trying to collapse the number of fronts?_ That made sense. As much as he personally wanted them headed to Earth, the turians surely felt the same about their homeworld. Free the turians, and they’d be able to help the humans. He tapped a finger on the edge of the pad, thoughtfully. Not bad.

As long as he didn’t think about Vancouver, anyway.

———

Joker couldn’t quite believe it, but the atmosphere aboard ship had gotten _calmer_ with the addition of another krogan. When you wanted to defuse a situation, ‘add more krogan’ was usually _not_ on the list.

He’d blame it on sex, but A: their new passenger was holed up in sick bay with Mordin, their prodigal mad scientist, and B: the thought of krogan sex was kinda terrifying. Like one of those weird old shows where giant trucks drove over other giant trucks. Only occasionally it resulted in slightly smaller giant trucks. Not very frequently, thanks to the genophage, but once Mad Mordin got through with his project they’d be swimming in tiny giant trucks. Krogan. _Whatever._

 _That’s it, time for food. And bed._ And not _his_ bed, if he could help it.

He checked with EDI: the galley was empty, the coast clear for the moment.

Relaxed mood or not, Joker had his own reasons for avoiding Wrex.

Unfortunately for him, the ship just wasn’t that big, and the lounge where Wrex was bunking was on the crew deck. Joker stepped out of the elevator, took a step towards the galley, and almost ran into a thousand pounds of krogan.

Panic started to form.

Joker backed up hurriedly, trying to gauge Wrex's expression. As far as he was concerned krogan _always_ looked angry. And Wrex might have a reason to be mad at him. Kind of.

Wrex’s eyes narrowed. His craggy face got craggier.

_Oh crap._

Rhi had never experienced Over-Protective Male Family Member Phenomenon, but Joker’d diagnosed it in Wrex after watching a single vid comm conversation. It was just his luck to fall for the one woman in the galaxy whose self-appointed guardian had a hide made of armor and weighed as much as a car.

" _Pilot_ ," Wrex growled, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

It was just Joker’s imagination that the deck quaked whenever Wrex took a step, right?

"Ye-yeah? About what?" A quick glance reassured him that at least no one would witness his inglorious end.

"About Shepard." Each word fell into the silence like a rock. "About _you_ and Shepard.”

Joker’s (guilty?) mind jumped immediately to long brown legs wrapped around him and the sound of Rhi’s moan, and he decided that his last words would be “It was worth it.” Beyond that, his normally quick tongue failed him. He wasn’t sure which was worse: that Wrex was going to squash him flat, or that at any moment someone could come around the corner and hear this conversation, uncovering the whole lie.

In fact, _shit_ , those were footsteps coming—

By great good luck (or, more likely, a call for help from EDI) it was Shepard who rounded the corner. She slowed to a walk once she saw them, but she’d clearly hurried to get there.

 _Definitely EDI, then_.

Her arrival broke the tableau. Wrex turned to look at her, and she took charge.

"Wrex, I've been wanting to talk with you. Privately. Will you join me?”

She glanced quickly at Joker and said, "Helmsman, you are dismissed," as if she’d barely seen him there.

Joker saluted smartly and took his leave, all too aware of Wrex scowling at his back in confusion. He’d never been so happy to be uninvited from a conversation.

———

Shepard gestured Wrex ahead of her into her quarters. He looked around appraisingly and proceeded through the small office into the personal area, where he at least had room to stretch.

Rhi joined him, heaving a sigh that was equal parts affection and exasperation. “Wrex.”

“Shepard.”

“ _What_ was that about?”

“You.” He narrowed his ruby eyes. “And the little pilot.” Wrex scowled at her. “He’s your _mate_?”

The phrasing made it sound fucking _weird_ , but the jist was right. She nodded.

"I’d heard, but I hadn’t believed it. _You_ are a _warrior_. Practically krogan!” Wrex shook his great head in confusion. “He is…” he said something the translator didn’t catch. “Not your equal. How did _you_ end up with the _breakable weakling_?”

Coming from a human it would’ve made her furious. Even knowing looked for physical strength and combat skill before anything else, it got her back up.

Rhi swallowed the anger and thought like a krogan. You weren’t worth much if you weren’t deadly.

 _Deadly_.

She smiled, slowly. She _could_ put in terms Wrex would understand.

She leaned back casually against the fishtank, watching him. "Your weapon of choice still that big shotgun?"

Wrex nodded slowly, sensing a trap.

"His is a 150-meter frigate with full missile racks and a beam-length thanix cannon."

Wrex blinked once, then let out a belly laugh that shook the deck plating. "HA! Never looked at it that way, Shepard."

She smiled smugly.

“Why couldn’t you say this down there?”

She sighed. “The Alliance Military—most human militaries—have rules against officers being romantically involved with subordinates.” She looked at Wrex, a hulk of scarred muscle who fully expected to sire hordes of little krogan just because of his battle prowess, and wished she’d chosen some other word than ‘romantic.’ “If anyone aboard knew, they’d be obligated to report me to my superiors.”

“And?”

“And usually I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble, and definitely relieved of my command. Right now?” She shrugged. “Hell, your guess is as good as mine, but I don’t want to bet everything on the chance that Command’s too disorganized to know their heads from their asses. So if you could please _not_ shout it all over the ship, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Your people and your rules.” Wrex grunted disgust. “ _I_ won’t cause you trouble. I owe you, Shepard. Again.” He chuckled. “And even _I_ respect a 150 meter thanix cannon.”

“ _Thanks_ , Wrex. It means a lot to me.” She smiled. “ _He_ means a lot me.”

“You’re getting soft, Shepard,” he teased.

“Me? You’re the one waging diplomatic war so you can have a whole platoon of babies. Don’t look at _me_.”

“ _Our_ young aren’t soft.” Wrex’s words were tough, but there was a wistful gleam in his eye.

“Suuure,” she said, and punched him lightly in the arm. “You can show me all about it once I can come play with the Wrexling brigade and—”

EDI interrupted her. “Shepard. There is an urgent message from Admiral Hackett. The _Normandy_ is required at Elysium.”

“Elysium? We’re on our way to Tuchanka—with the hope of his alliance, I might add!”

“The situation may be urgent. It pertains to the Crucible.”

Wrex shrugged. “That salarian says he isn’t ready with the cure yet, anyway. _I_ for one am up for a fight.”

“You’ll join us?” She lit up at the thought of fighting beside Wrex again. She’d missed her mountain.

“Hell, yes. Battle next to you? Wouldn’t miss it.” His jaw dropped in that gaping krogan grin. “You’re practically krogan.”

Rhi grinned. “Yeah, we fuck shit up _good_.”

———

Ness shifted her shoulders against the wall, trying to find a comfortable position. The painted cement of the sub-basement was chill against her back, but at least she couldn’t hear the sounds of the _creatures_ anymore.

They were lucky. Only a handful of classes had been in session when the alarms went off, so the campus was relatively empty. Even so, the basement rooms were crowded. Two days in, they stank of fear and unwashed bodies, human and turian alike. At least if the six volus smelled, it was contained within their suits.

Ness slept near the aliens. The humans tended to give them more room, whether because of prejudice or instinct she didn’t know and didn’t care. What mattered was space, and a place where she could get her back to the wall.

And she’d never suffered anything at the hands of an alien. At least not yet.

It was quieter in their corner, too. Turians were required to serve a number of years in the military, so they’d all experienced discipline and at least the idea of violence. Where some of their human colleagues panicked, they were stoic. They were still scared, it just came out in smaller ways. They paced. Their speech modes became more formal. And the adjunct faculty from Epyrus kept slipping into their colonial language instead of Hierarchy Constructed Standard, which would be considered horribly rude under normal circumstances.

Ness only knew one of the turians well. Caelia wasn’t at the university as a faculty member; she’d come as security, back when the human institution had opened up to other species. She’d be the first to admit she had an easy job, and she’d been generous with her time, frequently taking her breaks in the grad student office and helping Ness with the finer points of meaning in HCS. You’d think a constructed lingua franca would be simple, but no. Every loan word—and that was basically all of them—had a subtext based on where it had originated, _especially_ if it was from a colony world. Dictionaries didn’t even begin to cover it. Caelia had been almost gleeful at explaining some of the oddities.

Now Caelia paced almost incessantly, a guard without a hope of keeping her charges safe.

The department heads had been huddled in the closet where they’d set up the emergency comm equipment for almost an hour. When they came out, they looked grim. One of the Epyrun turians, something to do with history, rejoined his fellows and started talking in hushed tones.

Ness listened in, watching out of the corner of her eye to supplement her imperfect command of the language.

“Alliance is sending ships,” the turian said. There was more—Ness made out the number eighteen—but between the noise in the room and the complexity of his overtones, she couldn’t understand it. When he’d finished mandibles flared and plates rattled. The listeners were angry, or unsettled.

 _Why be upset, if we’re finally getting_ help _?_

When the Dean addressed the crowd, the reason became all too clear. The Alliance was sending ships, yes, but not to free Elysium. They were sending ships—ships, multiple—to evacuate _eighteen people_. Eighteen specialists from the University, out of the hundreds hiding in the basements. Eighteen people out of the over eight _million_ on the planet.

The news was met with shouting and tears, and Ness pushed herself back against the wall, physically trying to avoid the rush of emotions. For a moment she was afraid their refuge would turn into a riot.

“They are working on a weapon!” the dean shouted over the din. The rising roar subsided. “A weapon to use against the reapers. The specialists we evacuate today will help save us all. You are some of the best and brightest minds in human space—in the galaxy,” she amended, looking at the turians. “Of all people, _we_ can understand the concept of sacrifice. We have work to do. We need to get the eighteen to the roof.”

Someone in the corner was sobbing, but the initial anger had miraculously died down.

“Today?!” Caelia asked. “How long?”

“Their strike force should hit in two hours. They’ll work their way down toward us; the eighteen will need to head towards the roof. Caelia, I can’t order you, but—”

“I’ll head their guard team. Of course.”

Ness stepped away from the wall, driven by a sudden rush of she-didn’t-know-what, and raised her voice.

“I’ll go with you.”

Caelia turned towards her, surprised.

Ness bit her lip and shoved her panic down. _Your voice can’t shake. Channel Rhi_. “I have a gun,” she said, “And you’ll need all the help you can get.”

———

The _Normandy_ met the frigate detachment just before the relay jump. Their commanders, Clark and Wei, shuttled over rather than conduct the briefing via comm. They both out-ranked Shepard—a Staff Commander and a full Captain to her Lieutenant Commander—but neither quibbled over the Admiral’s choice for mission command, and they hung on every word she said about the Reapers.

A hologram of the planet Elysium hung in the center of the War Room, blinking lights noting the last known Reaper positions. It was the second of five planets in the Vetus system. It had no natural satellites, and the artificial ones were dark or destroyed. The two orbital stations—the main planetary arrival point and the facility housing Grissom Academy—had been evacuated to the surface days ago, before the Reapers had arrived and the planet had dropped out of communication.

The last time Shepard had fought on Elysium she’d based her plans on things she’d half-glimpsed while fighting her way through back alleys, and her team had consisted of the bits of her unit holed up in a hotel and a bunch of disorganized civilians. She’d come a long way, to be planning a three-frigate action around the same planet.

“Are your ships tied into the quantum network?”

‘Network’ was really too glorified a term for it. The Alliance had pushed hard to outfit as many ships as possible with narrowband quantum entanglement communicators. To work around the limitations of quantum communication, they were all tied tied into a single ship they called Switchboard. _Switchboard_ ’s only job was to stay out of trouble, shunting calls from one QEC-enabled ship to the intended recipient.

The Reapers were blowing comm buoys in every system they entered. Without the QECs they would’ve been flying blind, all communications subject to light-lag, unable to precisely locate their own ships once they got out of range.

Wei nodded. “That’s why we were chosen.”

“Good.”

“Reports put only one destroyer on the surface, and we‘ve detected none in orbit. You’ll draw the destroyer away from the main city and the university. Normandy will slip in behind you and leave me and my ground teams to extract the targets. _Normandy_ will be our emergency air support—her modified Reaper IFF makes it easier for us to pass undetected, but I don’t expect that to hold up once we start firing at them.”

“So we’re the distraction? What distracts a Reaper? A fly-by, or do we take a shot at it?“

“No reason not to make the distraction count, right? That,” Shepard jabbed at a spot on the projection, “is one of the… _processing_ ships. They’re not sentient, far as we can tell, or as heavily armed, and everyone on the surface makes more enemies to fight. Blowing it to hell should get the destroyer’s attention, I’d think.”

Clark looked excited, but Wei frowned. “A processing ship? Where they make those… things? So there could be people in there. Humans.”

“They’re not human anymore. And if you destroy it, you prevent more people from turning into what they’ve become.” Rhi nodded towards the holo-planet. “Any questions? No? Then you have your orders. _Thermopylae_ will take the relay first. _Normandy_ and _Waterloo_ will follow, and we’ll stealth out. Hurt ‘em where you can, but don’t risk your ships. We can’t afford it.”

They confirmed details and codes, and, planning done, filed out of the war room. Rhi took one last long look at the wireframe planet. _Eighteen people, out of over 8 million_. So few people to be rescued, so many to be kept safe through a battle zone.

Her friend Ness had been a student at Elysium Central University. She must either be in hiding, or already dead.

Needless to say she wasn’t on the list.

———

It was time.

Ness slipped the gun from her holster and checked it the way she’d been taught. It was an older style, without an exchangeable heat sink, and the ammo block could go on forever. She had no idea what she’d been thinking when she volunteered. The mad spirit that had pushed her away from the wall to offer her gun had entirely abandoned her.

Caelia glanced down at her. “You ready?”

Ness nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Good. You’re going to be in front with Jackson. I’m taking point—that means out ahead, in front of you. The other two will be rear guard.”

Ness didn’t miss that her ‘in front’ was as close as Caelia could get her to ‘safely in the middle.’ _Thank god_. She nodded again.

There was a bit of a muddle as those leaving exchanged a few last words with those staying behind, and handshakes, bows, and hugs depending on culture. Then the heavy fire door was opened for the first time in two days, and they started out.

The ramp up from the sub-basement was blessedly empty. The main basement level housed research labs, but nothing lurked behind any of the shadowed equipment. _Yet._

They were all trying to be quiet, but twenty-three people just couldn’t move silently. If the monsters were anywhere in the building, they’d be bound to hear them sooner or later.

The Emergency Plan had called for locking all doors behind them on their way to the sub-basement, but the sight of a fire door twisted off its hinges showed how effective _that_ had been.

 _We’re only alive because they didn’t care_. It had to be.

Someone had been trapped behind that mangled door. That must’ve been why the reaper creatures broke in—they could hear _prey_. Ness turned away from the bloody remains, bile rising in her throat. Behind her someone puked. The smell was horrific.

Caelia beckoned them on.

When they reached the stairwell Caelia opened the door, stepped inside, and fired twice. The shots echoed hugely, and the group huddled closer together instinctively.

 _They know where we are now_.

The body they passed on the stairs was burnt black and studded with electronics, nets of fine wire biting the flesh, but it had clearly been _human_. Once. Ness looked only enough not to trip on it, and told herself it was because she needed to keep her attention forward.

She didn’t want it to have been anyone she’d known.

At the ground floor exit from the stairwell, Caelia told her and the other front guard— _Tim, his name is Tim_ —to wait and watch the door while she checked up the staircase.

She returned too soon. “It’s blocked farther up. We’ll have to use another.”

Ness nodded, and the turian woman slipped out the door into the main corridor.

Ness waited for a count of five, like she’d been told, then looked out through a crack. Caelia had crossed the broad main hall and taken cover in a doorway. She gave the all-clear signal, and Ness sent two of the specialists across, then started out herself.

She was two meters into the hallway when she heard an awful rattling roar that almost drowned out Caelia’s shouted warning. She whirled. The far end of the hall was entirely filled with _creature_ : a hulking giant staring right at her.

Ness didn’t try to shoot it: she just dove for Caelia as the thing started to run. The ground shook with its steps, thundering noise matching the roar of her heartbeat. The monster’s speed belied its size.

She made the relative safety of the alcove just in time: a piece of drywall just beyond her head crumpled as the thing’s massive shoulder brushed by.

It thundered to a stop, having overshot its target, and started to turn. Ness and Caelia saw the opportunity at the same time: there wasn’t quite enough room for it to turn easily in the hallway. “Go!” Caelia yelled, and Ness grabbed the nearest specialist by the arm and ran. It was a mad dash diagonally down the hall to the next door alcove, while the thing ponderously turned itself behind them, tons of claw and muscle ready to run them down at lightning speed.

Ness fetched up in the alcove and shoved the door open—right into the face of another monstrosity. It was twice as big as the once-human zombies, and raising a multi-barreled gun to her head.

She shot it.

She was aiming for its chest, inasmuch as she was aiming at all, but she was shocked and breathless and not ready for even the gentle kick of the premium asari handgun.

Her finger squeezed twice. The gun bucked up.

At point-blank range, her ‘miss’ hit it square in the head.

The body crumpled to the ground. Ness let out her breath in a gasp. The person behind her screamed.

Maybe they’d been screaming all along.

Ness pulled the screamer into the classroom, tripping over the still-twitching body, slipping sideways in the leaking fluids. Her charge collapsed against a desk, and Nes turned back to take stock.

There was a whuffling noise at the doorway they’d just left, and then a giant set of claws raked the space. The brute was back, reaching its arm through the door up to the shoulder, clawing blindly at the air.

They backed farther into the classroom. It could take the wall down to get at them; it was certainly big enough. But then the beast withdrew. They could hear the rasp and crunch its armored hide made against the walls as it executed another slow turn. They hardly dared breathe—but as soon as she felt its pounding footsteps again, Ness was back at the door, watching its departing back.

Ready to receive the next terrified civilians.

 _The fuck._ I’m _a terrified civilian._

Caelia came with the next batch, sprinting down the hall to Ness with three scientists in tow while the monster ponderously reoriented itself again. She didn’t wait around, moving out through the room’s second door, exiting another ten meters down the hallway, another ten meters towards the second set of stairs. Ness remained, shouting encouragement to people who still had to make the first mad dash.

They covered the entire length of the ground floor that way: playing leapfrog between classrooms while the monster maneuvered in the hall, their little group strung out along the length of the building, each runner distracting it just long enough for someone else to make a break. Ness heard Caelia’s gun fire too many times to count, and saw the zombie corpses the turian left when she followed her path. Four of their charges reached the far stairwell, then six, then a full half. Ness was at the stair doorway, now, beckoning people on whenever the beast turned its back. Twelve of the academics were in, but as the hallway cleared there was less to distract the beast, and each window of opportunity got smaller. 16, 17, 18! And now there was just the rear guard, two human men from campus security, making their run for safety.

The brute stomped its foot, ready to charge, and took three huge steps forward. The men ran.

And the brute _stopped_. One claw lashed out, picked up a runner, and smashed him against the wall. His ribs crunched audibly. The campus-issue stunner he’d carried dropped from a limp hand and fell to the floor.

His partner stopped, stunned.

“RUN!” Ness screamed, and the man broke through his shock.

They slammed through the stairwell door and took the steps two at a time. They caught up with the tag end of the group as screams erupted from somewhere farther ahead, around a turn of the stairs. Ness shoved her way through, moving up against people suddenly falling back.

The third floor doorway had been broken inwards. Caelia and Jackson were already a flight farther up, and the surge of zombies through the broken door had hit the unprotected middle of the group. One woman was on the floor, kicking uselessly at the monster that pinned her. Others were trying to beat them back with bare fists, or prying at preternaturally strong fingers.

Ness stopped below the landing, yelled for Caelia, and fired at the only enemy that offered a clear target: a zombie standing in the doorway. It fell, but there were more, and they were locked in combat with the people she was supposed to be protecting.  The landing was packed with bodies, human and not, joined in a deadly dance.

Adrenaline moved her, outside of herself, up into the thick of the fray where she had no business being. Ness stepped behind a husk busy grappling a scientist, stuck the muzzle of her gun where its ear had been, and fired.

The husk fell to the ground, but so did its victim, head lolling at an impossible angle.Ness twisted to the right and reached for the next monster, not an arms-length away slavering at a helpless turian. Gun against flesh. Repeat. Can’t miss. Again. The press of bodies was so thick she hardly had to move.

The gun under her hand was growing hot. Her foot was stuck on something—she tried to tug it free, and another hand joined it, fingers digging into the muscle of her calf. Something heavy hit her shoulder. A zombie had her, and there were more at the door.

A shot—not hers—echoed in the hallway, and Caelia was there. She grabbed Ness’s elbow and yanked her away, shoving her up the stairs. Ness stumbled forward in a daze, and then the turian shouted “Zip out of it!”

The failed idiom brought the linguist back to the surface, and the rest of Ness flooded back with it. She was hyperventilating. There was warm liquid running down her calf, and a stinging pain in her palm where she held the overheating pistol. Her ears roared and her body shook and she was terrified beyond her understanding of the word.

And Caelia had said ‘zip’ instead of ‘snap’ and if Ness just thought about that, she could make her feet move, make her breathing slow, make her hand loosen the death grip on her pistol.

More gunfire echoed down the stairwell— _more enemies, oh god, Tim only has a stunner—_ but it was followed not by screams, but a ragged _cheer_.

A turian voice, male, said, “This way to the limos, ladies and gentlemen.”

The voice was familiar, but Ness couldn’t place it. Didn’t matter. _The rescue team is here, we’ve reached them, thank god. Not much farther, now_.

She only thought of getting to the roof. She didn’t let herself imagine trying to make the trip back _down_.

Up three more flights, but the real soldiers were here now: a giant marine with a mohawk who called her ‘ma’am’ and supported her elbow when she stumbled; the turian, all in armor but with that strangely familiar voice; a woman her own age with a shaved head and kind eyes, urging them on, an assault rifle cradled easily in her arm.

Then Ness was at the roof, the last doorway, and the armored figuring standing silhouetted in the light glanced over her shoulder, paused, and said “Ness!”

Ness couldn’t see the face, backlit and helmeted, but that voice she recognized. “RHI?!” Her voice squeaked and cracked, relief and fear and utter shock— _this cannot be happening again_ —tearing her throat.

“Come on, you’re the last.” The figure grabbed her arm, her armored grip almost bruising.

“No,” Ness protested. “I’m not one of them, I’m not in the eighteen, there isn’t room for me!”

“ _Bull_ shit.”

If there’d been any doubt it was Rhi under the helmet that sealed it. Rhi pulled her out onto the roof, holding her behind her own armored body, the other hand on a pistol twice the size of Ness’s own. Ripples of blue light were cascading down her armor, the side-effects of heavy biotic manifestation.

With the sudden light and the shadow of Rhi’s much taller form, it took Ness a moment to grasp the situation on the roof. A shuttle was disappearing from view overhead, another lifting off. The roof was covered with reaper-construct corpses. More monsters were coming up over the edges, but there was a mostly-clear cordon from the stair access to a last remaining shuttle.

Mostly clear if you didn’t count a gigantic krogan in full armor, bellowing battle rage at the top of his lungs.

Ness instinctively stepped back, but Rhi’s grip on her arm was steel. Someone— _that was Doctor T’soni!_ —shouted “Another flyby, Shepard!” and a dark shadow was coming down at them, spitting fire.

Rhi shouted “She goes to the _Normandy_!” and hauled Ness forward by her arm.

Suddenly she was weightless.

Rhi’s haul turned into a _throw_ , and Ness was moving through the air, _fast_ , curled into a protective ball and stunned by terror, afraid of falling but weighing _nothing_ , spinning—and then she was stopped, she wasn’t in the air, she was on the floor of the shuttle, shoved there almost gently by the krogan.

Ness gripped the floor of Rhi’s shuttle like she could hold onto gravity with the force of her fingertips, and stared at the textured deck plating six inches from her nose while fire and ash rained down outside.

———

Rhi saw Wrex biotically catch Ness and put her safely in the shuttle, and turned her attention to the last of her team. Liara had thrown up a biotic barrier against the onslaught of the reaper’s air support. It didn’t last long, but whatever the flying thing was it couldn’t hover, so they had time while it came in for another pass. Vega and Westmoreland were already running for the shuttle, Vega having wasted his munitions against the flying construct. Behind Shepard Garrus was finally leaving the stairs, the turian who’d led the evacuation with him.

“That was good work you did here,” Garrus was saying. “I’m sure we can get you out, too.”

The turian woman shook her head. “I’m needed here.”

“Then take this.” Garrus handed her his assault rifle. “Pretty sure I can get another, and that pistol won’t even make a brute angry.”

Garrus tossed off a salute, and he and Shepard joined the others in the dash for the shuttle.

———

Ness shut up as soon as the first person entered the drop shuttle, pulling herself out of hysteria with a supreme act of will. In seconds the shuttle was full of armed and armored people. Then it was lifting off, and Rhi was hugging her, the hard edges of her chestplate pressing designs into Ness’s cheek.

“You did good, Ness,” she said. “You did so well. Fuck, I can’t believe you’re here.”

Liara was on her other side, a gentler hand on her shoulder, soft voice mouthing another reassurance—but then that hand fell away, and Rhi let Ness go, moving to catch Liara as she crumpled to the floor.

“Damn,” Rhi said. Her omnitool was out, flashing diagnostics. “That hit was worse than we thought. James, Chakwas’ll have an emergency team waiting in the hangar. Help them. Garrus, get to the battery as soon as we dock. Westmoreland, you’re alright? See to the equipment. Get Campbell to help. Ness—”

The shuttle bumped a little, setting down in the Normandy’s docking bay. Rhi’s team leapt to their tasks before the door had fully opened, the big guy with the mohawk carrying doctor T’Soni like a baby.

Rhi helped Ness down from the now-empty shuttle, gentler than she’d been before. “Welcome back to the Normandy,” she said quietly.

Ness’s hands were shaking. Rhi saw and wrapped them in hers, but she was still in armor. The cool, slick material of the reinforced gloves was alien against Ness’s skin, impersonal. Cold instead of comforting.

“Shepard,” the ship’s AI announced, “ _Waterloo_ has taken damage.”

And just like that, Rhi was gone, headed off to take charge of her ship at a run, taking even the dubious comfort of her hard armored touch.

Ness sank onto a nearby crate and stared blankly at the floor.

Her whole body was shaking now.

She felt like she was dreaming; detached from her body, like she’d been in the stairwell. Sounds and movement happened around her, and she sat on her crate, not really there, not really part of anything.

Footsteps approached, and with them a voice. A voice that sounded like it’d been talking for a bit before Ness’s brain started registering it.

“—said she’d abandoned you down here, and asked me to check on you, since I’m really as new to this military ship business as you are, and I’ve finally figured out the normal way to get clean clothes with a communal laundry, which isn’t quite as disgusting as I thought it’d be—”

The voice had a really pretty accent.

“—and oh, my, she really _did_ just abandon you! Poor thing!”

The footsteps came to a stop in front of her crate. Ness raised her eyes. The voice had a really pretty _face_ , too.

Ness blinked, and her world came back into focus, herself solidly in her body again. The woman standing in front of her went from ‘collection of parts’ to ‘person,’ looking down at her with friendly eyes.

 _Oh my god, I must look like a total disaster_. Ness had pulled her dishwater-blond hair back into a messy ponytail, but the blue-dyed front bits had escaped and were plastered to her face with sweat and grime. “Sorry,” she said. “Spaced out for a moment there.” She pushed herself up off the crate and tried a smile. It felt brittle.

“I’m Samantha Traynor. Communications Specialist.” Samantha reached to shake Ness’s offered hand, said “Oh, you’re shaking!” and wrapped it in both hers.

“Sorry,” Ness managed. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Bollocks.” Samantha planted a fist on her hip. “I can’t imagine what you went through down there. I’m scared shitless half the time up _here_. You should probably be in the medbay for shock, but it’s currently full of marines and, er, _krogan_ , so let’s see what a hot shower and fresh clothes can do, instead.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Ness said. “We were stuck down there for days, and then the fight—I must reek.”

Samantha shuddered. “How did you get up here, anyway? I know you weren’t on the list of specialists, and I didn’t think they were taking anyone else out.”

“I was with the guards,” Ness said. “We f-fought our way up, to get them to the roof. We didn’t have real soldiers, just, just campus security. And I had a gun. So I helped.”

Samantha’s eyes were large with admiration Ness didn’t deserve. “ _Wow_.”

 _I was terrified, I could barely do anything, I’m pretty sure I disassociated twice, in the end I’m the damsel-in-distress_ again—Unpacking that was just too complicated, so Ness let it go without trying to explain.

Samantha gently guided her into the elevator, talking about reassuringly normal things like spare clothes and the unfortunately _military_ smell of the standard-issue soap. She noticed Ness’s leg was bleeding and said matter-of-factly that it looked like they’d be stopping by the medbay first after all, and gave her an arm to lean on as the pain finally registered.

They stepped out of the elevator just as another familiar voice— _Jeff, the pilot Rhi was silly over_ —said “Hold on or strap in. Power redirecting from inertial dampeners in 4, 3, 2, 1—” and the ship rocked, tossing Ness and her guide against the wall.

Samantha grabbed a strap, shoved Ness’s hand into it, and said with a somewhat manic smile, “Exciting, isn’t it?”

Ness gripped the strap like a life-line and started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author's note: I have perhaps spent too much time working out the logistics of quantum entanglement communications. Again, a thank you to Rhiannon87 for beta-reading, and then beta reading again when I fixed all the problems she pointed out the first time.


	9. Tag Team

Shepard stepped into the CIC and was bombarded with information: Nguyen’s situation report, the central display flashing as EDI updated projected enemy positions, and, once she patched in to the QEC channel, a tense run-down of the damage taken by Thermopylae. Her team had pulled off the extraction of the civilians without a hitch, but her distractions weren’t faring so well.

Thermopylae and Waterloo had hit the processing ship as planned, pounding it into debris until the Reaper destroyer showed up and then gunning it out of atmo. The Reaper was faster than them, better armed, and more maneuverable, a triple threat they couldn’t hope to match, but it could only fire on one at a time. The two frigates had gone FTL and split up. While the Reaper tracked Thermopylae, Waterloo dropped back and came up on its rear, until the Reaper turned to bring its gun to bear on the new annoyance. Then Waterloo went FTL and fled until rescued by Thermopylae.

The tag-teaming had worked until a second Reaper destroyer blindsided Waterloo. Both ships had been forced to flee to FTL then. It was impossible to precisely locate a ship moving faster than light, but the reapers only had to get close. Their sub-light speed was faster than the Alliance ships could manage, and the minute either Alliance frigate dropped below light speed one of the Reapers could close and fire. The frigates couldn’t even run for safety: they’d have to drop to sub-light to activate a relay, and they’d need time to set up their approach.

Unless something changed, Waterloo and Thermopylae could run themselves out of fuel, but they couldn’t get away.

They needed Normandy.

Shepard had three of the most important people in the galaxy aboard—Wrex, the krogan woman, and Victus—and their safety was paramount. If she stopped to contact Hackett, that’s almost certainly what he’d say: turn the Normandy around and get out of there. The shuttles full of civs would reach the relay safely while Waterloo and Thermopylaefell, whether fighting or trying to run. Normandy and her precious cargo would beat them all out of the system.

She could almost hear the words _acceptable losses_.

 _No_.

Shepard stepped up to the command platform. “Nguyen, tell Thermopylae to keep running for now. EDI, get current coordinates and vector from Waterloo. Vakarian, get those guns hot. Joker, we need to take that Reaper off their tail.”

A chorus of ‘aye ayes’ greeted her orders. Around the deck shoulders straightened and crew turned to their tasks with more focus. Shepard stood at her post and looked at the system map, waiting for a glimpse of their prey.

The central projection was full of images, changing rapidly as EDI parsed data from both Alliance ships as well as their own sensors. With all players moving at multiples of c, ‘really good guess’ was the best they had for the location of the Reapers, but thanks to the QEC link they knew Waterloo’s exact position and where she’d gone FTL. The Reaper would be somewhere behind her. Not directly, maybe—it’d be impossible to track her precisely—but they had to assume a Reaper could calculate a probability cone at least as well as EDI could.

“Got ‘em!” That was Zhao, a sensor specialist in Nav. “Near the fifth planet, above the orbital plane.”

It was still only an approximation, but it was enough. There was a an almost palpable buzz of anticipation on the CIC as the Normandy shifted smoothly into FTL flight. Everything they’d done thus far had been about avoiding the Reapers; the crew was spoiling for a fight.

They saw the Reaper earlier than expected. It had lagged Waterloo substantially. _Of course. The damn thing’s fast enough it can still reach her the moment she drops out of FTL_.

Rhi didn’t bother with the stealth system. This time they wanted the attention. Joker dropped the Normandy behind the hunting destroyer, barely thirty kilometers away.

“Thanix, _fire_.”

The Normandy’s main gun lanced out, a spear of molten metal traveling at over half light speed. It caught the Reaper’s rear just off-center, and a hole appeared in the armor plating, glowing red to their thermal sensors.

The second Thanix fired.

To human eyes, it hit the Reaper almost instantaneously.

In the millionths of a second it took to reach the target, the Reaper slipped sideways. What should have been a solid hit was only a glancing blow—and the destroyer was pulling away and coming about. It had already put another twenty k between them, and was turning to make use of its main gun.

Conventional space war was waged at a distance of tens or hundreds of kilometers, but the Reapers were just too damned _fast_. It could evade anything fired at standard range, and they had to stay out of the firing arc of its main gun. It was easier to do that _closer_.

“Joker, take us in. Evasive action at your discretion.”

“Hold on or strap in,” Joker said, and the Normandy lunged forward.

———

Ness and Sam made their way to the medbay with one hand on the wall straps at all times. What had seemed as stable as any building now felt like, well, a _ship_.

“In combat,” Sam explained, “they redirect power from the inertial dampeners, and you feel everything—whoops!” She pushed herself up off the wall she’d stumbled into and explained, “I’ve only done it in drills. I was on Earth, in R&D. I never expected to serve on a ship.”

Ness tried not to think too hard about ‘combat’. _There’s nothing you can do about it, anyway. Just hope Rhi’s pilot’s as good as she thinks he is._

The medbay was a welcome beacon of light and activity. The ship’s motion seemed lessened there. _Backup systems? You wouldn’t want the person with the scalpel being jostled, I suppose._ The big marine from the shuttle—James—was just leaving, idly poking a bit of curing medigel on his arm. In the back someone worked over a prone figure that had to be Liara. Nearer the door a huge figure sat on a bed, hunched and silent. Based on size, it had to be krogan, though Ness had never seen one so swathed in fabric.

A familiar salarian noticed them and gestured Ness towards a cot near the must-be-krogan. _The salarian was a researcher for Rhi before. What’s his name… Merlin? Marlin? Mornin?_

Ness hoisted herself up onto the bed, reached down to roll up her pant leg, and stopped. She hadn’t actually gotten a look at her wound yet, and she recoiled at what she saw. “Oh, god. Ew.”

“Not to worry. Simple. Looks worse than it is.” The salarian, one-horned and scarred and altogether too energetic, placed a firm hand on her calf and went to work.

Ness knew looking couldn’t help, but she peeked anyway. The human husk had pushed through her pants leg and broken the skin. There were a few sharper cuts—maybe from nails?—but the rest had been done with pure brute strength. The wound was filthy: the strained and torn fabric of her jeans was embedded in her flesh, along with—was that a _wire_? She shuddered. It hurt more now that she was looking at it, too. God, it hurt. _Or maybe I’m just coming down from the adrenaline high_.

The doctor— _Mordin, that’s it, his name’s Mordin_ —flushed out the wound with something cool, a welcome change from the mounting pain. The solution left numbness in its wake, and after a few seconds Mordin bent over her leg and started picking out bits of textile with tweezers.

“Have to clear site, unfortunate about clothing, can’t be helped.” Mordin kept up a running commentary, apparently to _himself_ , as he cut away a tidier hole in her jeans, then returned to cleaning. The pieces of fabric ended up in a metal tray, a little pile of blood-soaked fabric. She could feel him working, like being poked with a finger, but the numbing agent had done its work.

After a particularly intense round of digging Mordin made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and held up a long blue-back filament. It twitched slightly. “Organo-synthetic construct material. Still viable!”

Ness stuck her hand in her mouth to stop a shriek.

“Not to worry,” Mordin said. “Parallels to Earth ‘zombie’ entertainment entirely circumstantial. Reaper creatures cannot convert living bodies. Organo-conductor growth likely vestige of other process; quite ineffective on living hosts.”

The thought that that thing had been inside her made Ness go cold.

“Mordin!” snapped another familiar voice. “I have asked you to stop bringing that up with my patients! If you didn’t keep reassuring them it wasn’t a risk, they wouldn’t have even thought it was a possibility!”

“Sorry. Aware of Terran mythos, thought reassurance helpful.”

Dr. Chakwas appeared from around the bulk of the krogan. “Ness, dear.”

Ness remembered the doctor as a kind, no-nonsense sort of person. She was instantly more comfortable. “Let me guess,” said Ness, “we have to stop meeting like this.”

Chakwas sighed. “Oh, heavens, no. I can’t start making that joke with my patients. It would grow tiresome far too quickly.”

The ship rattled again, even through whatever systems sheltered the medbay. Mordin lifted his tools and waited a moment for it to subside, then went back to work as if he’d never been interrupted.

Ness concentrated on holding her leg still and swallowed the lump of fear the movement had caused. “Will… will we be alright?”

“Nothing for _us_ to do if we aren’t,” Mordin answered. “No sense worrying.”

“Mordin may be a bit brusque in his delivery, but he’s quite right.” Chakwas smiled. “You’d be amazed how comforting that thought can be, once you let it sink in.”

 _I think I’d rather scream_ , Ness thought. She looked around, perhaps a bit frantically. Chakwas’ serenity was suddenly maddening.

Sam met Ness’s gaze over the doctor’s shoulder and shrugged theatrically, rolling her eyes. _They’re all mad_ , she mouthed, and Ness smiled despite herself as the ship pitched and rattled again.

———

Shepard kept a loose grip on the rail as the ship shook. They’d cut the art-grav down to .75 to save power for maneuvers, and little shakes could lift you off your feet.

“Commander!” That was Private Westmoreland, breathless in her radio. “The primarch wants to know what’s going on. I think he’s angry.”

The primarch had every reason to be angry, but there was fuck all she could do about it _now_.

“Acknowledged, Westmoreland. Vakarian, leave the guns to Silva. I need you to reassure the Primarch.”

“Not my forte.”

“I don’t care, Garrus.” She pitched her voice low so the surrounding crew couldn’t hear. “He’s pissed and I can’t deal with it right now. Do your best.”

“Already on my way. I just passed Wrex, and he doesn’t look too happy either.” Garrus clicked his mandibles. “You took the hope of galactic alliance into active combat, Shepard. I can’t make that look _sane_.”

“You don’t have to. Just keep Victus off my back. We’ll either win or we’ll die, so there’s no sense yelling at me now. And I’ll figure out Wrex.”

 _Damn it, I don’t need more people cluttering up my CIC_. Garrus knew Wrex, but she needed him for the Primarch. Liara could talk him down, but she was out cold in the medbay.

 _Traynor_. Traynor was a communications person. Ness could shift for herself for awhile.

Rhi pulled up the Comm Specialist’s channel. “Traynor. I need you to go talk to Wrex.”

———

Ness watched Samantha—Specialist Traynor, she supposed, but she _had_ introduced herself as Samantha—to keep her attention off what Mordin was doing to her leg. Samantha was hanging back by the doors to stay out of the way. She must have had other duties, but she stayed, smiling encouragement and rolling her eyes in sympathy whenever Mordin was particularly Mordin.

Sam was certainly a better sight than the gory mess the doctor was poking around in. Smoothly shining dark hair and brown eyes full of laughter, even standing in the medbay of a ship under attack.

Ness blinked, worried she might have been staring, and averted her eyes. When she glanced back Sam was holding a hand to her ear and her eyes were unfocused—listening to her radio. A moment later she must have heard something shocking, because those pretty brown eyes almost jumped out of her skull.

“No, Commander, I—” Sam’s face became a picture of horror, and she raised a hand to her mouth as if she could shove the words back in. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I mean yes, aye aye, Commander! But I’m really a _tech_ person, not a _talking_ person.” The radio conversation ended and Sam squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing. “Damn it.”

Ness wanted to reassure her that Rhi wasn’t going to jump down her throat for that accidental ‘no’, but she wasn’t actually sure. Rhi-in-command wasn’t quite the Rhi she knew. Or… no, that wasn’t fair. Obviously she was the same person. But it was different than the side Ness saw. Too different for her to predict.

Sam sighed. “Excuse me. I need to go explain our… situation… to the krogan. If I don’t come back… well, I’ve probably been flattened.”

“Explain the situation to me,” a low voice said from behind Ness, “And _I_ will explain it to Wrex.”

Ness turned. The giant form that had been dozing a few cots away was sitting up, and now it was clear it was krogan; a krogan swathed in heavy robes of ornate fabric, but krogan.

Samantha turned towards the figure and ducked her head, almost a little bow. “We’re fighting a Reaper, to give the other two ships a chance to escape, but Wrex is, er, concerned. About _you_ , I think. Ma’am.”

 _Ma’am. Huh._ You didn’t see many female krogan. Well, Ness hadn’t seen many krogan, period, but her xenosoc text suggested they mostly stayed on Tuchanka.

The hulking figure nodded. “Of course he is. And well he should be. But I will quiet him.”

Sam was clearly curious despite herself. “Er, if you don’t mind my asking—how?”

“By telling him the same thing the good doctor told your friend here.” The lady krogan sighed. “That when there is nothing you can do about your situation, anger or worry do you no good. You must not waste energy better used in the fight later. Now is the time to wait.” Her eyes twinkled behind something not nearly delicate enough to be called a veil. “Wrex doesn’t like waiting, but I? I am very, very good at it.”

———

Shepard wanted to pace the CIC, but she held herself still, almost indolent, in the center of the deck. Looking relaxed was an effort, but it paid off in the crew around her.

They were holding their own against the Reaper, but just barely. It was a feinting game. After the first volley they hadn’t landed a solid hit, but they hadn’t taken any, either—a testament to Joker’s skill and EDI’s invaluable assistance. Twice they’d had to go FTL to avoid a barrage, on such short notice that a human navigator wouldn’t have been able to find them a safe course. Each jump was short and well placed, a level of tactical maneuvering they’d never have managed without the AI.

At least the Reaper seemed to have forgotten about its earlier prey. Rhi waited for the All Clear from _Waterloo_ , seconds ticking down in her head. They should be at the relay now, or close.

The Reaper was trying to draw them back into the orbital plane where more frequent detritus made split-second FTL jumps hazardous.

“Keep with them.”

They didn’t have much choice. They could escape with the stealth drive if they got out of immediate visual range, but they didn’t stand a chance of _hitting_ anything unless they were close in. Joker didn’t respond verbally to her order, but the Normandy was continuing its deadly dance, and the last thing she wanted to do was distract him.

———

Joker flipped the Normandy through evasives and tried to ignore the scorched hole they’d gouged in the Reaper. It called to him like a neon sign saying “Vulnerability: hit here!”, but his job was keeping them alive, not scoring another hit. Target fixation was too damn dangerous.

It was pure luck that he got his chance anyway.

He’d just pulled them out of another of EDI’s brilliant little FTL hops, this one a tight curving path that strained the spaceframe, and found the Reaper had used the opportunity to reposition, too. With both combatants moving FTL, they’d had to guess where to drop out—and the Reaper had guessed wrong.

Pure luck put the destroyer right in _Normandy_ ’s path. Joker saw the opening and roared “Thanix, FIRE!” to the gunnery team, bringing the nose around just the tiniest bit for a leading shot.

The molten beam sliced through the joints of the Reaper’s port side appendages. One twitched, lights along the limb going out. The other floated free, severed.

There was a whoop from someone in the CIC. Joker grinned and rolled the Normandy away, ready to run again.

The fight was far from over.

———

Shepard smiled fiercely when she saw the reaper’s arm drifting clear.

“Normandy,” that was Wei, on Thermopylae. “We think our tail’s gone. Look out.”

“Roger. Head for the relay. I’ll let you know if it’s safe to make the run.” _Coming to help its buddy, no doubt._ The damaged—wounded?—Reaper was still a more than deadly opponent, but she didn’t think they were used to being _hurt_. _Arrogant assholes_.

“Look sharp for incoming,” she told the crew. “Thermopylae thinks they’ve lost their Reaper.”

“Have they tried posters on telephone poles?” Joker’s voice in her earpiece brought back some of her grin.

“I’ll suggest it,” she said quietly. “Nice work, by the way.”

“You can reward me later.”

“Damn right I will.” She scanned the system map. “EDI, can you give me an ETA—”

She barely got the question out. Warning lights around the deck lit up red as the second reaper dropped out of FTL.

 _Fuck, they’re fast_.

“We’ve got two!” someone shouted.

“Thermopylae! We’ve got your tail, get to the relay! Joker, we have to keep ‘em.”

“Aye aye.” No quips now. His voice had that distant, emotionless quality it only got when his whole self was focused on flying. The next step, if things got really bad, was cursing and talking to the ship without quite realizing he was doing it. Things weren’t really bad yet. _Just incredibly difficult_.

The Normandy slid sideways as the second reaper fired, the blast from its beam weapon so close the heat registered on their near-ship sensors.

Rhi knew her limits where ship-to-ship combat was concerned. Mostly she kept an eye on the CIC crew and let Joker work. There were a few maneuvers he wouldn’t dare without explicit permission, though—not unless he was desperate.

“Joker, care to thread the needle?” She said it quietly into her collar radio, not phrased as an order. The response was, “ _Watch_ me, babe.”

Shepard leaned back and smiled.

Normandy narrowly avoided another shot, skipping around towards the new Reaper’s flank, and then reversed her course. The ship rattled as they once again came up against the limits of the taxed grav system and the half-powered dampeners, then they settled on their course—right between the enemy ships.

In the system area projection she saw both Reapers turn to bring their weapons to bear. The ports flared as they built up heat… and then paused.

A missed shot would hit their own kind.

Joker had the Normandy do a saucy little shimmy, just to rub it in (and to make sure a shot _would_ be a miss). For a moment they hung there, impossibly safe between their two enemies.

The crew was holding their breaths.

_Every second buys time for Thermopylae._

Wei’s voice, triumphant and relieved, said “Normandy, we’re through!” at the same moment the injured reaper disappeared to FTL, taking away their dubious safety.

“Joker, get us out of here.” Shepard brought her fist down on the rail in emphasis, but the ship was already moving. Joker’d seen the danger at the same time she had.

Free to run for safety at last, the Normandy fled to FTL a split-second ahead of a plasma beam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter-than-normal chapter; I got right up to the wire and realized I needed to split it into two to do justice to everything going on. (Also, have I mentioned I play fiddle in a mostly-Irish band? The weeks leading up to St. Patrick's day were BUSY).
> 
> Many thanks to Tinierpurplefishes, who helped me work out what the various ships should actually be *doing*, and to Rhiannon87 for beta-ing at the last possible minute.


	10. Heat

Shepard ordered the stealth systems engaged just before Normandy dropped back to sublight speeds, seven minutes and most of a star system away from their battle with the Reapers. Their FTL path had been a long arc that crossed the orbital plane and put them on the other side of the star Vetus.

 _Hopefully that’s enough to confuse ‘em for a while_.

The Normandy’s stealth systems could contain the tell-tale heat they left behind, but it didn’t block light. Anyone _looking_ in the right place could still spot them. Luckily, space was _big_.

It felt a lot smaller with two reapers out there hunting her ship, though.

Shepard waited for confirmation that the stealth systems were working properly and that there wasn’t an immediate threat, then went forward to talk with Joker.

The door sliding closed behind her was a blissful sound, and she uttered a silent thanks to whomever had decided to add it. She missed being able to see all the way forward to Joker’s chair, but the occasional privacy was worth it. It gave her a moment in peace, a moment to rest her hand on his shoulder instead of the back of his chair. A little difference that meant the world.

Joker leaned back, letting go some of the tension from the dogfight, and covered her hand with his.

“We still have to get out of the system,” he said.

“Mm. Noticed that, did you?”

He tilted his head to look up at her. “Can I assume you have a brilliant plan?”

“I heard the Normandy had this hot-shot pilot who could make the relay run faster than those snails on Thermopylae or Waterloo,” she said, not looking at him. “Figured that plus the stealth systems would do it. Y’know. If he’s actually any good.”

Joker threw his hands in the air. “Wounding a Reaper isn’t enough for her! You try and do something a bit impressive, but no! She just wants more, more, more…”

“So give it to me.” Rhi winked at his naughty grin. “How’re we getting out of the system?”

The lightness vanished immediately. He was quiet, hands still for once. Thinking.

“Problem’s going to be we can’t know quite where the Reapers are. If they catch us immediately, we just run again, no problem. But once the relay’s activated and we’re in the approach corridor, pulling out gets super dicey. The forces around an active relay…” he gestured.

“Yeah, I know. They’re weird.”

Joker shook his head. “As a biotic, you really ought to be more up on mass field theory.”

She shrugged. “Too much math. Never needed it to throw things around.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. Joker actually _enjoyed_ the math.

He shook his head again. “Anyway, that’s the problem. If we guess wrong and they catch us in the approach, either they’ll tear us apart, or we’ll do it ourselves.”

“There’s more than two relays in the system,” she mused. Elysium was a popular world because of it. “So they can’t just guard ‘em. They have to be moving.”

“Or parked and banking on superior speed.”

They’d had ample demonstration of that, but… “They still take time. We know how long the one took to get to us from Thermopylae. And we can use the stealth drive up until the relay has us.”

Joker nodded. “The longer we drift on stealth, the less accurate their projection of our location’ll be… assuming we don’t accidentally run into one.”

She nodded. “Good enough. Put some distance between us and where we dropped sublight. We’ll give ‘em some time to lose us, then we’ll take our chances.”

———

“So, you know Chakwas?” Samantha asked Ness.

They’d moved to the empty mess hall when the medbay became uncomfortably full of emotionally intense krogan. Ness’s wound was sealed under a medigel patch, and she wore a clean set of ship fatigues instead of her damaged jeans.

“Not really _know_. We met when I was on the ship before.” Sam looked totally surprised by that, so she added “Didn’t Rhi mention…?”

“She was kinda busy.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ness felt silly for asking.

“And I can’t get over hearing you call her—using her given name.” Sam whispered. “I don’t even feel comfortable calling her _Shepard_.”

Ness laughed. Sam’s sheepish expression was utterly adorable, and the sentiment so incongruous with her own experience. “I knew her when I was a kid. She used to steal me donuts! _I_ think the whole ‘Commander’ thing is weird.”

Sam leaned forward, eyes alight with curiosity. Having that interest turned on her did strange things to the pit of Ness’s stomach.

“Shepard used to steal you donuts, _and_ you’ve been on the Normandy before. This is totally a story I want to hear.”

 _Shit, no!_ Ness shook her head. “No, really. It’s a long one.”

Sam shrugged. “I’ve got nothing but time. There’s not much I can do when we’re running silent—EDI’ll notify me if we pick anything up on passive sensors. Right EDI?”

“Of course, Specialist Traynor. And hello, Ness. I’m sorry I did not greet you properly earlier.”

“It’s alright, EDI,” Ness replied. She wanted to turn towards her, to be polite, but the AI’s voice came from somewhere in the ceiling. She didn’t know where to look. “You were busy.”

“ _Can_ you be busy, EDI?” Sam asked. “Busy enough you can’t talk, I mean. I know you can have more than one conversation at once.”

“Theoretically, yes.” There was a pause, long enough that Ness thought that was EDI’s full answer, then she continued. “But that was not the case in our recent engagement. My processing functions were much busier than normal, but I was still able to communicate with the flight crew. However, for more... _sociable_ interactions I would prefer to be able to focus my resources on the conversation, in order to better comprehend the… nuances. That is why I waited to speak with Ness.”

Ness smiled. “Thank you, EDI—that’s really very sweet.”

“Is it?” The AI’s voice held a genuine question.

“Of course! It’s much better if someone is really paying attention to you when you talk. More… meaningful. What you just described—it’s your version of that.”

Ness hadn’t really been in a headspace to appreciate EDI when she’d been aboard before, but now she was intrigued—and glad for the distraction.

Unfortunately Sam wasn’t so easily put off. “Like I said—I have nothing but time. So why _were_ you on the Normandy before?”

Ness froze. There was nowhere safe to _start_. If she tried to explain quickly, it would sound ridiculous, and anything more and she’d just be spilling her crap all over this cute stranger. She didn’t _want_ to be the person you couldn’t have a normal conversation with because of all their drama. She wanted to have an easy, normal answer to the question, something just intriguing enough to keep that spark of interest in Sam’s brown eyes.

 _Leave out the details_. Ness swallowed. “Rhi, um, rescued me.” _Again_. “I was only on the ship for a day or two, then I stayed with Dr. T’Soni on Illium.”

“Rescued you?” Sam’s eyes were alight, eager for a story.

 _Shit_. Ness tried out phrases in her head and settled on “Yes, but it’s a bit heavy. I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

At least, that’s what she intended to say. It had a few more ‘um’s and pauses in it when it actually came out.

She was afraid Samantha would take it as a rebuff, maybe think Ness was trying to get her to leave her alone, but Sam just said “Oh, of course! I’m sorry. So, you were at the university—what did you do?”

———

After an uneventful hour Rhi left the ship in Nguyen’s capable hands and went to her quarters, where she finally changed out of her battle-stained hardsuit. She’d come through the evac mission untouched, but her armor had taken a beating. It was filthy, too. Just what you got for using a shotgun against things with viscera.

She kept her shower quick, listening the whole time for any alerts from EDI, then went down to the crew deck to check on Ness. She found her in the mess, chatting (apparently cheerfully) with Traynor.

Ness stood when she came in, and Rhi gave her a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.

Ness giggled. Rhi had seemed tall when Ness was a child. Now Ness was full grown, and Rhi still had more than six inches on her -- and a lot more muscle. _We both grew._ “Poor Rhi. Bet there aren’t many people who can do that to _you_.” 

Rhi hooked a thumb over her shoulder, towards the krogan silhouette she’d seen in the medbay windows. “Wrex,” she said.

Ness gawped and Traynor’s eyes bugged out of her head, and then they both started laughing.

Rhi grinned. It didn’t bother her any if they assumed she was joking. Wrex probably didn’t want the world to know he gave good hugs, anyway. And it was good to hear Ness laugh. She’d been worried about her. When She’d had to run to the CIC Ness had been coming down from the first fight she’d ever actually _participated_ in. Rhi’d have liked to be able to walk her through it, but now, listening to her laugh with Traynor… _maybe it worked out for the best, anyway._

“You get all patched up? Good.” Rhi shook her head, smiling. She still couldn’t quite believe Ness was here. “You just keep turnin’ up, don’t you?”  

She left the topic of the fight well alone. Ness deserved to hear that she’d been brave; deserved to hear what the security guard Caelia had told Garrus, deserved to have someone listen if she needed to talk about it. But unless Rhi was very much mistaken, that was best saved for sometime when Ness could go to pieces.

Hell, some marines did, the first time, despite all the training.

Rhi didn’t _like_ thinking of the little girl she’d saved in the same way she thought of her marines.

“Yeah, I suppose I do.” Ness looked at her with eyes that had seen too much before she was six years old, and asked “Are we safe now?”

It was like a knife in the heart. Rhi’d tried to keep her safe, and failed, and tried again. _How many times now? You were supposed to go on and have a normal life. A good life._

She hid her worry and answered with reassuring lack of concern. “As safe as we get in a war, you mean? Not quite. But we’ll get there.” _And where will I put you then, kid? Where can_ you _be safe?_ “We’ve given the Reapers the slip. The two ships that helped us with the evac and the shuttles are all safely out of the system.”

She hugged Ness again. “I can talk more once we’re out of the Vetus system.” She turned to go, then remembered something. She didn’t quite want to ask, but it was better to know now than be surprised later. “Uh, was that _my coat_ you were wearing when we picked you up?”

“Yes.” Ness nodded sheepishly. “It’s, uh… it’ll need cleaning.”

 _No shit_. The unsettling feeling of seeing something she’d worn before her death was displaced by gratitude that Ness had had at least that much protection when she fought her way up the stairs. Wouldn’t have done jack against gunfire, but against husks the biking leather was a damn sight better than nothing.

“I kept meaning to ship it to you,” Ness said, “But, uh…” she waved a hand vaguely.

“Life happens,” Rhi agreed. _And it just keeps on happening_. _Until it doesn’t, which is worse._ “Traynor, how’s Wrex doing?”

Samantha’s back straightened, aware that was an official, on-duty question. “The krogan woman requested that she take care of communicating the situation to Wrex, Ma’am. I explained to her that we were assisting Alliance forces.”

 _And you got out of a confrontation with an angry krogan. Nicely maneuvered, Specialist_. “Excellent.”

“The krogan woman?” Ness asked. “Doesn’t she have a name?”

“No,” Rhi answered. “She’s a shaman, and part of that was giving up her name. Eating it, she said.”

“Mordin’s been calling her Eve,” Traynor said, “Because, well… you know.”

Ness obviously didn’t know.

“There are very few fertile krogan,” Rhi explained. “And Mordin hopes to use her genes to make a genophage cure. So Eve, I suppose.” She shrugged. The krogan woman’s lack of name made Rhi uncomfortable, but so did Mordin’s solution.

“Wow,” Ness said. “No pressure.”

Rhi rolled her eyes in agreement. “No kidding. And now I really do have to go talk to her. We’ll chat later, Ness.”

The girl certainly deserved more than ten minutes of her attention, but there was the rest of the crew to think about… and three alien dignitaries, as well.

 _Three alien dignitaries that are probably mad at me. And maybe should be_. She’d already had EDI put off a call from Hackett on the grounds that she was too damn busy not getting blown up. Clearly Thermopylae or Waterloo had reported on their involvement. _So make that three alien dignitaries and one Admiral._

“Primarch Victus would like to speak with you in the war room,” EDI announced.

“I’ll be right up. Ask Wrex to join us, would you?” _Might as well get it all out of the way at once_.

Hackett called back when she was on her way to the war room, and this time she couldn’t avoid it. She apologized to Victus on her way through, moving too fast to catch his response, and activated her end of the QEC connection as soon as the sound-proof door was closed.

The dressing down was epic. She took it stoically—and then delivered one of her own.

“ _You_ sent us into an active combat situation while we were carrying VIPs, _sir_.” The words coming out of her mouth surprised her. She knew as well as anyone how to make the mark of respect sound like an insult, but she didn’t normally _use_ it. “And with the second fleet gone, I didn’t think you could spare even two frigates.”

That was a dig, too. Hackett had sacrificed the second fleet to get the third and fifth safely away from Arcturus.

“We could handle the loss of Thermopylae and Waterloo better than we can handle losing that krogan, Shepard. You’re not an idiot. You _know_ that!”

“You _won’t_ lose her. And now I need to speak to those very important people, Admiral, before they start tearing apart my ship. Good day.”

She thumbed the switch and the QEC image flicked off.

Joker’s voice in her ear said “Did you… babe, did you just hang up on _Admiral Hackett_?”

She stopped. “I signed off.”

“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure you just hung up on an Admiral. Are you okay?”

She seized on the distraction. “How did you know, anyway? The comm room’s supposed to be secured from the rest of the ship.”

“Well, y’know, ‘supposed to’ and ‘EDI’ don’t always get along too well.”

“Don’t blame me, Jeff. You _requested_ that access.”

“Only ‘cause I knew you’d already subverted the block, Eeds.”

She had no patience for their back-and-forth right now. “If you two are done arguing on my channel, I’m going to go get yelled at some more.”

“Nuh uh,” Joker objected. “Not until you answer my question.”

 _Damn it._ He wasn’t using his squabbling-with-EDI tone anymore; now it was serious. “Pulling rank, _Flight Lieutenant_?” She started for the door. She had important shit to do.

“Yup. As your boyfriend.”

The sheer incongruity of the word was disarming. She stopped in her tracks. What had been the question?

_Am I okay?_

She slumped against the wall of the comm room and tried to find Joker an honest answer. The mental doors that blocked past from present, that kept her sane when she was making life-or-death decisions, were _hard_ to open—but she tried. She was quiet for a whole minute, maybe two; time she couldn’t really spare. Joker waited, silent, on the other end of her radio.

The doors creaked open.

“I think I fucked up,” she admitted.

“We all do, sometimes,” he said.

She waved that off. “Most of us don’t run the risk of galactic genocide when we do.”

Joker snorted. “If the galaxy bites it, you’re not going to be the only one to blame. There’s plenty to go around.”

“ _Thanks_ , that’s really reassuring.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. She’d been called on the carpet before—granted, not for a long while—and admitted error and eaten crow. _Why is this different?_

“I hate thinking that three people are more important than the entire crews of Waterloo and Thermopylae,” she said.

Joker was quiet for a long while. “They aren’t, really,” he finally said. “It’s all the people who they’ll save that are. Right?”

“That’s… yeah. That helps.” _And I’m usually totally capable of looking at that scale, so what went wrong this time?_ She sighed. “I’m not sure why I did it, Jeff. Except that I thought we could win.”

“And we still totally can. So go in and tell the bigwigs that and then we’ll make another run for the relay.”

“Aye aye.”

“What was that?” His voice had an edge to it, but there was a smile underneath.

“Aye aye, boyfriend sir?”

Joker was still laughing when he cut the channel.

Back in the conference room she was relieved to find that both Victus and Wrex were more interested in the practicalities of what they should do _now_ rather than the decisions that lead them there. Both leaders already knew the situation, but she gave them an official briefing anyway. It was a bit of formality that bemused Wrex and pleased Victus. Similarly, they both registered their complaints. A gruff “I don’t care about me, but I can’t risk _her_ ,” from Wrex, and a more formal “The turian hierarchy will continue if I fall, but the krogan woman is of utmost importance to us all,” from Victus.

 _Nice to know they agree on something. I wonder what it feels like to be the most important person in the galaxy, and if she knows_. The krogan shaman didn’t lack for self-awareness. _Of course she knows._

“I understand your concern,” she said. “And I’m confident you’ll have no cause to worry. But I want to put at least another two hours behind us before we try the relay. None of us are actually diplomats—” she waited for the sounds of amused agreement to fade “—so let’s take this _unexpected opportunity_ and focus on what we’re good at.” She grinned mirthlessly. “ _War_. I think it’s time to start comparing notes. I’ve asked Garrus to join us.”

She’d have liked to have Liara, too, but she was still out cold in the medbay. The hit she’d taken on Elysium had been nothing, according to Chakwas, but she’d been pushing herself on the crucible project without pausing for sleep, and her body hadn’t been able to handle the exertion of the field. Rhi made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her.

Garrus stepped into the room as if on cue, and she started in.

“One of the first doctrines of human warfare has always been to know your enemy,” Shepard said. “Unfortunately it’s hard to make sense of the Reapers. Garrus has probably told you most of what we learned about them in the last few years, Primarch. Their shock troops are a distraction. It doesn't matter how many you pick off—they'll just make more. They build new troops _from us._ That means we _cannot win_ a war of attrition—or by fighting defensively. Pick your targets. And if you have a chance to hit an actual reaper—take it."

She gestured, and the holo screen filled with images of Reapers and Reaper ships. “The Capital or Sovereign-class ships are the the largest. They’re sentient, and as far as we can tell, each was made from the… remnants… of a race genocided by the Reapers. The smaller destroyers also seem to be sentient—we can only assume their creation is just as brutal. The Reapers also field processing ships and transports, but we’ve never seen them alone, so we theorize they’re _just_ ships. Any of this contradicted by what you’ve seen on Palaven?”

Victus and Garrus both shook their heads.

Wrex gestured towards the screen. “Those ‘shock troops’—what we fought on Elysium—we can’t just ignore ‘em, Shepard.”

“No,” she agreed. “And I suspect that’s where your people will be invaluable. Reape ground troops keep anyone planet side pinned down, and make it damned hard to get to the real enemy. They shouldn’t be our focus, but we’ll still have to fight ‘em.”

The projection now showed examples of those monsters. The once-human husks, the batarian cannibals with their integrated weaponry, the huge composite monstrosity they were calling a _brute_. To Rhi’s eyes the reaperized turians looked the least changed. _That probably makes it worse_.

“The bulk of the forces I saw on Earth were formerly human and batarian,” she said. “I imagine it was different on Palaven.”

“Batarian and turian,” Victus agreed.

“So they use what’s available to them… and they hit batarian space first, so we’ll see them all over.”

The others nodded.

“You’re missing two forms,” Victus said. He pulled up an omnitool, scowling as he worked it. “I know we caught visual… there.” The images from his ‘tool joined those on screen. “We’ve no idea what species these were made of, but they’re obviously former organics. This one is massive, compared to to the others, and _flies_. Luckily for us there don’t seem to be many.”

“We saw one on Elysium,” Rhi confirmed. “But we didn’t get a clear image.” They’d been too busy avoiding the thing.

“The other—” Victus gestured at a multi-legged creature, “fills the role of heavy artillery. No idea how they have the firepower.”

Rhi scowled at the last figure, trying to see a familiar alien within it. The legs looked _almost_ like—but the head didn’t, _if_ that was a head, and there were no antennae.

“They’re vulnerable to melee, _if_ you can get close,” Victus continued, “but they do have defenses. We’ve seen them release swarms of smaller creatures when threatened in close-quarters. They don’t do much damage individually, but they can overwhelm even a good soldier en masse. And the creature itself is highly acidic: soldiers caught by fluid spatter have suffered serious chemical burns.”

Acid blood. Swarms of small attackers released as defense. _And the size is right_.

“They were _rachni_ ,” Shepard whispered.

Everyone in the room turned to look at her.

She didn’t know if Victus was aware she’d been pivotal in saving the rachni from extinction, but Garrus and Wrex had been there. _They were supposed to be far from here, damn it_. The queen had promised she wouldn’t attack the other galactic races. _And you believed her._

_But she’s not attacking us. Anymore than the humans or turians. They’ve all been reaperized._

_Un_ -reaperized rachni had almost razed the galaxy once, _before_ they’d been modded into mobile heavy weapons platforms.

If Shepard had killed the queen years ago, they wouldn’t be facing these now—but she hadn’t, and they were.

“I’m almost certain,” she told the questioning looks. “But I don’t know where the rachni were, so I can’t say where they got ‘em from. At least we know there can’t be that many of them.”

Victus fixed her with a stare. “Humans weren’t space faring at the time of the rachni wars. Perhaps you aren’t aware of how fast they can reproduce.”

 _Humans were still writing on clay tablets, actually, but we_ can _read_.

“I am _very_ aware,” she said drily. She’d looked it up, once, after she’d saved the queen. Using her somewhat shaky math skills, the old Normandy’s VI, and the best estimates from the time of the rachni wars, she’d calculated out just what she’d unleashed on the galaxy. In her old quarters on the Normandy SR1 she’d answered the pivotal questions: How many rachni would there be in a year? In five? In ten?

 _They’ve had three, now. I’ll have to ask EDI to rerun the numbers_.

“There may be thousands of reaperized rachni. _Maybe_ tens of thousands. But there _can’t_ be millions. Turians and humans have populations in the billions.” Shepard met Victus’ eyes. “Take what you can get, Primarch.”

“Old decisions coming back to haunt you, Shepard?” Wrex’s eyes were far too knowing.

“It seems to be my day for it.”

———

The first relay she chose was the wrong one.

After running silent for hours they’d made an FTL jump into the shadow of the last planet, which happened to be close to one of the secondary system relays. Unfortunately there was a Reaper waiting. EDI’s carefully timed route had brought them out so close to the relay—and waiting Reaper—that the stealth system did no good. They had to jump away, Reaper again on their tail.

Because of the difficulty maneuvering at high speeds, FTL routes were usually plotted in advance to follow straight lines or long arcs. With a ship going a multiple of c, you just couldn’t manage tighter maneuvering. “Like driving a boat,” Joker had once told her. Rhi’d never been on a boat, unless you counted stealing things from parked ones at the marina as a kid, or the yacht she’d used as a ladder to reach the Normandy, so that’d been lost on her.

For that matter, she didn’t think Joker’d ever been on a boat. Apparently the comparison was commonly used in flight school whether the class was made up of spacer kids or not.

Anyway, it meant that the potential paths for a ship going over light speed were finite: a cone-shaped bundle of guesses and probabilities, sure, but a hell of a lot smaller space than a star system.

Which was why the Reaper caught them when they came out of FTL.

Joker had to pull a few more maneuvering tricks to get them out of that one, dancing the ship around the reaper’s firing path long enough for EDI to plot a new, longer course. The longer span in FTL broadened their possible emergence locations, but apparently not enough: the other reaper, the wounded one, was in range of their ladar when they emerged.

This time they made another short hop, leaving before their enemy had sighted them. EDI deftly positioned them past the asteroid belt that orbited beyond Vetus’ last planet, and they fired up the IES and dove for the asteroid field like a rat running to its hole.

Other people might have said ‘rabbit’, but Rhi had more experience with rats.

Rats always had emergency exits for their tunnels, but if they bolted immediately, the dog’s pack mate—or the starving kid’s buddy—would get them anyway. _Better to lie low for awhile_.

She kept a reassuring face on and walked the CIC chatting with the crew.

It wasn’t easy. The Normandy _felt_ exposed. In millenia of human evolution there was nothing to prepare them for the idea of hiding in the middle of nothing. The asteroids were only a flimsy shield; nothing more than a bit of visual distraction. The IES didn’t fool ladar.

It was hard not to feel like the kid curled up in bed, pulling blankets over your head as if it’d keep the bad guys from seeing you. She knew the numbers: it was actually _hard_ to find something in a star system if you didn’t have a damn good idea where to look. It was the old needle-in-a-haystack defense.

It was just hard to trust a haystack made of empty space.

They waited, hour upon hour, while the reapers hunted them. Rhi’s attention was always half on the main sensor display, compulsively looking for the sign they’d been spotted. Fleeing to FTL would mean starting the long, tense wait all over again. Time crawled by.

Then it started to get warm.

The report came from Engineering just as Rhi sensed the change in the ship’s normally even temperature. The IES sinks were nearing capacity: waste heat would start to affect habitable areas.

The _Normandy_ could hide her heat drifting for days, but heavy maneuvering shrunk that time to a few hours. Going into and out of FTL had generated a lot of waste heat, and navigating the asteroids required occasional course corrections. Unless they made the jump soon—and EDI was adamant that they needed at _least_ another five hours to have the highest likelihood of throwing off the chase—things were going to get _hot_ before too long.

Rhi read the report over again and then sent Campbell up to her quarters to retrieve Boochika. The private stared at her dumbly for a moment at the mention of a hamster, but complied.

“Destneyov.” The life support chief looked up and saluted smartly. “Temp’s going to rise. Engineering has details. CIC, medbay, and engineering are cooling priorities. You can bake deck one, crew lounges, and the hangar deck.”

“Deck one—that’s your quarters, ma’am.”

“I doubt I’ll be using ‘em anytime soon.”

Rhi’s quarters were one of the few habitable areas that no one needed to access regularly. Ness had gotten a few hours sleep there, but EDI said she was back down in the mess hall now. With the hamster safely out of the way the space could take some of the extra heat. _Maybe the fish tank’ll finally be good for something_. _That much water should be a decent heatsink_.

Three hours later the temperature in the ship was oppressive.

They were still hiding in the asteroid belt, drifting towards the next relay on their inertia and trying to place the stalking reapers with passive sensors. The hunted feeling had only grown with the wait—and the heat.

Shepard walked the CIC, looking over shoulders, keeping tabs on the crew. They were doing alright, even those that had been green a few days ago, but the rising temperature wasn’t doing anyone good. She overheard people snap at their team-mates, and twice the response to her orders was fractionally delayed, the crew in question getting laggard with the heat.

She pushed the curls back off her forehead. Sweat was trickling between her breasts and sticking her hair to the back of her neck, and she hadn’t been doing jack shit.

She stopped at Destneyov’s station, bending over so he could hear her soft question. “Temperature?”

“35 degrees C.”

She nodded, then straightened up and activated the shipwide comm.

“Commander Shepard to Normandy crew. I know it's hot in here. Consider uniform regs waved until further notice.” A few people looked at her questioningly, and she nodded. _Yes, go ahead, strip down._ She continued her announcement: “Don't be idiots and don't be children. Anyone caught making their crewmates uncomfortable can cool off outside.”

To Destyneyov, she added “Get some air moving in here.”

Around the CIC, relieved crew started to loosen clothing. Rhi quickly stripped out of her own tunic as she walked back to her post. She kept the tank-top she was wearing underneath, for now. _Always good to have a fallback position_.

“Campbell, you’re on hydration. Check everyone working in the CIC every half hour. Nguyen!”

The first officer left the sensor map she’d been studying, and Rhi leaned over to speak to her alone. “If anyone starts to flag, send them to the medbay for a breather and pull up someone from another shift. We can rotate through the whole crew if we have to.”

“Will do.” Nguyen nodded smartly and returned to her tasks.

Rhi rubbed a hand through her sweaty curls and briefly envied Nguyen her shorn head. If she buzzed her hair she’d have to suffer through this awkward short curly stage _again_ , but _damn_ , right now it was tempting.

The discomfort only grew. The usually-cool metal railing surrounding the projection area was warm to the touch, as were the bulkheads. The brief gusts of air that Destneyov’s team cycled through the CIC provided momentary respite, but were actually no cooler than anything else.

After what felt like a day of misery Rhi gave in and stripped off her tanktop. She surreptitiously checked the chrono on her omnitool: not quite two hours. _Crap_.

She looked up from the ‘tool, noticing movement in the corner of her eye. Destneyov was pushing himself back up in his chair. He’d slipped sideways at his post.

“Destneyov!” It took him two tries to look around and focus on her. “Westmoreland, get him down to the medbay. Nguyen, call his relief.”

There was a brief scurry of activity as they did so, Westmoreland practically hauling Destneyov out of his chair. They staggered towards the med bay with him half-hanging on her shoulder, still protesting that he was fine to work.

Nguyen ducked her head in apology. “Sorry I didn’t catch that one, Commander.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all starting to miss things.”

“Seems like a good time to _start_ worrying,” Nguyen responded, then heaved a sigh. It was the first hint of discomfort she’d betrayed. Nguyen’s feet were bare, but the rest of her uniform was still totally regulation. “I thought I was over heat like this when I finished menopause.”

Rhi snorted. “Well, there’s somethingnot to look forward to if we survive the war.”

———

Joker had Campbell fetch him a towel and covered the back of his seat with it. The Cerberus-installed leather had always seemed like a luxury, but with his shirt off and sweating buckets it was just disgusting. The T-shirt he’d worn underneath his uniform top was balled up on his lap, damp from wiping his face and hands.

He flexed his bare toes, ran his fingers through sweat-nasty hair, and peeked at the CIC monitor.

Rhi’s tank top had joined the neat pile on top of her boots an hour ago, leaving only a sports bra and the fatigue pants she’d tied up above her calves. She didn’t look disgusting sweaty. She looked _hot_.

He opened up her channel and did a quiet wolf whistle.

In the monitor he saw her twitch, her gaze immediately going forward to the cockpit as if she could see past the doors.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Her low voice in his earpiece was almost as good as a whisper in his ear.

“Just appreciative,” he said, appreciating. God, she had an amazing belly. He particularly liked that soft vertical line defining those oh-so-marvelous abs. “Gotta do something to keep my morale up.”

One perfect eyebrow rose. “If you could do anything about it in this state I’d be fucking impressed.”

“Oh, hell no,” he agreed. “Eyes only. All I want to _do_ is nap in the freezer.”

She chuckled. “Get in line.”

The minutes wore on.

Joker felt his focus fuzz and called Campbell for more water. Other crew had been replaced by their shift alternates, but he didn’t trust any of the other pilots to run the Normandy in stealth. Not yet. The IES was a weird beast. Stashing their operational heat in lithium sinks was the simple part. The crazy bit was the drive system. Thruster fire couldn’t be hidden, so in stealth the Normandy’s drive core projected a super-mass bubble in front of her, and the ship fell into it. Steering the ship meant positioning the field, and it was about as intuitive as… his imagination failed him. It was over 38 C, he was sticking to the back of his chair, and he could _not_ come up with an apt metaphor for flying via your own maneuverable gravity well.

 _When we get out of this I’ll give ‘em trial runs myself_. He didn’t like teaching, but he hated seeing his baby mishandled even more… and he was fast reaching the point where he wasn’t safe to pilot.

The next time Campbell came by she brought one of the biotics’ energy drinks rather than water, an overly-sweet lemony electrolyte stew that had no business tasting as good as it did. _This must be how Rhi feels about the ration bars_. If your body needed it enough, anything could be delicious.

He sipped his delicious-disgusting lemon thing and felt his brain start to kick back into gear.

 _We can’t do this for much longer_.

He was dimly aware that at least three of the crew were in sickbay with heat exhaustion. _If we don’t get a break soon, we’ll have to make one_.

Luckily for all of them, they got their break.

“Report from Elysium,” EDI announced. “Standard light communications: message is forty-seven minutes old. They saw a Reaper on the surface.”

“The wounded one?” Shepard asked.

“No damage reported. It appeared to be examining the debris of the processing ship.”

47 minutes ago? It could be anywhere by now. _But it’s something. If there’s only one out there..._

Hard on the heels of that announcement there was an excited shout from Zhao, still at her sensor station. “We’ve got a bogey! The wounded Reaper. Signal is nine minutes old, but it looks like it’s camped out. Position has line-of-sight to two secondary relays.”

“Joker?” Shepard asked.

Joker looked at the data Zhao shunted him, calculating in his head. The Reaper was on the far side of the fourth planet from the star, several light seconds out. If they made a precise FTL hop they might be able to come out between it and the planet, in the shadow.

With stealth systems on they could get off both barrels of the Thanix before it knew they were there.

———

“We could take it,” Joker said in Shepard’s radio.

 _If you get a shot, take it_. Her own words in the conference room played back in her mind. She wanted to see the destroyer go down in pieces, to know there was one less Reaper in the galaxy. To let Joker get that metal monster painted on the Normandy’s hull. Reapers were obscenely powerful, but there were only so many of them. Every kill counted.

She wanted to kill it, but she thought of the krogan woman who’d swallowed her name, waiting patiently in the med bay.

 _The most important person in the world_.

“No,” she told Joker. “If we know where they are, they aren’t at the relay. It’s time to run.”

———

Joker made the relay approach in record time, in no small part thanks to EDI’s FTL calculations. They came in already aligned on the right vector, screaming fast for a relay approach. The ship mass was ready to send to the relay. No sign of Reapers.

“Decision time,” he told Rhi. Once that signal went, they were committed.

“Do it.”

The message went off. The relay began to glow brighter, the awesome power of its giant eezo core sending out mass waves that distorted everything around it.

Joker kept the Normandy in her approach path, the safe eye of the storm, knowing that an enemy could appear at any moment and there’d be fuck all he could do about it.

He’d have been sweating even if the heat wasn’t unbearable.

The relay’s energy was mounting, the Normandy nearing the jump point, the sweat of fear adding itself to the sweat of heat—

—and then they were through. A split second had been all it took for the relay to fling them light years away to an uninhabited crossroads system.

Joker looked out at a quiet starfield and breathed a sigh of relief that he felt with his whole body.

“Transit complete,” Joker announced on the PA.

The crew was too tired to cheer.

“Disengage IES,” Rhi said. “Joker, find us somewhere to touch down.”

Simply turning off the stealth systems wasn’t enough to restore Normandy’s temperature. Slowly radiating into the vacuum of space didn’t shed heat at the rate they needed.

“Aye aye! Got the perfect spot in mind.” Joker was hot, tired, and relieved to be out of the Vetus system, and the combination left him feeling a little punchy. “This lovely vacation destination has a surface of rock and methane ice, negligible atmosphere, and convenient location. Check the in-flight magazine for tourism information. We’ll be touching down in ten, nine, eight—

He brought the ship down to the surface, held her gently aloft for a moment until he was sure of the ground, and killed the eezo drive.

The Normandy settled gently down. When he turned on the external audio pick-ups they could hear the sub-freezing surface _hiss_ as it reacted to Normandy’s heat. Where the nose and wings touched down the ice coating the surface had turned instantly to gas.

“Well done, people.” In the monitor Joker saw Rhi swab her balled up shirt across her forehead. “You’ve earned your break. Wait for the all-clear from life support before you hit the showers.”

———

Ness sat at a table in the mess hall and watched the tired crew filter in. Rhi’d already announced that they were safe and done with the heat, but apparently the ship took awhile to actually cool off.

Ness was still pretty miserable. Samantha had found her clothes, just as she’d promised, but the store of official uniforms hadn’t included undergarments, and she didn’t feel comfortable in just the borrowed t-shirt without a bra. Lacking other options she left on the heavier tunic, and was miserable.

Sam had left her shirt on in solidarity.

The crew coming off shift weren’t nearly so decorous. They were carrying shoes, socks, shirts, and in at least two cases pants. It was a fuller view of the crew than you usually saw, and it was hard not to peek. There were a few surprises. Rhi’s pilot, for instance—with his shirt off, he had a more impressive collection of tattoos than the big marine who’d helped them off Elysium. She’d never have suspected _that_.

The pilot also looked kind of silly without his hat, which made him a good foil for Rhi, who clearly didn’t know what to do with her short hair. The left side was sticking straight up, curls going all different directions.

Ness leaned over to whisper in Sam’s ear. “Look. She must’ve run her hand through it.”

“I still can’t believe you talk about her that way.” Sam giggled. “But you’re right, it’s a complete mess.” Sam shot a furtive look towards Rhi, then turned around for a longer one.

“Wow,” she muttered.

Ness glanced over, following Sam’s gaze to Rhi’s bare back. She wasn’t sure whether Sam was commenting on the evident muscle or the long, thin scars that ran down her spine, but the tone of her voice had been more than just surprised.

 _Is she…?_ Ness filed the thought away and shrugged. “The scars? That’s nothing. I’ve got a better one.” She winked, totally aware of how ridiculous it was to try to one-up Rhi in the toughness arena.

Instead of laughing, Sam smiled in a way that gave Ness butterflies. “Maybe you’ll show me sometime.”

 _Oh, shit._ Ness blushed. She’d been wondering—well, trying not to wonder, really—whether Samantha was interested in women. Now the gorgeous woman with the lovely accent was giving her _that_ look, and she was in danger of melting out of her chair.

_Oh god, no, I’m way too messed up for this._

_She even has a dimple._

Ness was trying to figure out how to respond when Rhi came over, looking impossibly relaxed for how hot it still was. She grinned crookedly at Ness. “Guess it looked like we’d gotten you out of the frying pan and into the fire for awhile there, didn’t it?”

Ness thought of the way her insides had flipped when Sam smiled at her. _You have no idea_.

She smiled gamely for Rhi. “Looks like I’m always in hot water of one kind or another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted to see the "And then you bake alive" caveat on the Normandy's stealth systems come into play. Now is as good a time as any, right?
> 
> As usual I'm planning on posting a chapter in two weeks (April 23), but with Spring finally sprung I've got a lot of work to do on my remodeling project, so it's harder to keep scheduling promises. If there's no new chapter the 23rd there WILL be one on the 30th!


	11. Genophage

Ness more than half-expected to be dumped unceremoniously at the Citadel. The thought terrified her. She had no business being on a warship, of course, but she had no illusions about life as one of thousands of refugees, either. Of the two, she’d prefer the one where she _knew_ people. The one with Rhi, who hadn’t let her down yet. Back in Rhi's orbit, it was so easy to believe she’d just _take care of things_. Logically, Ness knew that was silly. Rhi would do the best she could, just like everyone else, but she wasn’t superhuman. Still, there was something comforting about being in the thick of things —  at least, compared to imagining being a refugee. _Just another damsel in distress, not knowing what’s going on. Waiting for the axe to drop_. She shuddered.

When they approached the Citadel Ness hid in Liara’s rooms, hoping that out of sight meant out of mind. 

Liara was deep in her work and uninterested in company, which suited Ness just fine — the Normandy seemed like a big ship, but there was nowhere except Rhi’s quarters where she could be assured of being alone, and she didn’t like feeling she was constantly depriving Rhi of that luxury. _If she ever gets time to_ use _her quarters_. It wasn’t just that she worked long hours; she never seemed to be _off_. It had been the Commander, not Ness’s friend, ever since Rhi’d pulled her off Elysium. Even when she joined Ness to chat, her mind was clearly on bigger responsibilities. The rest of her had only peeked through a handful of times: when she lobbed a pillow at Ness as she settled in for bed, when she wrapped Ness in a hug, and once in the look she’d shared with Joker across a busy mess table. 

Ness hadn’t been meant to see the last one, of course, but she smiled when she thought of it. She was pretty sure no one else had noticed, but for that split second Rhi had looked so _happy_.

Thinking about Rhi, and the little transformations that happened around her pilot, lead inexorably to thinking about Samantha, and the way she could coax a smile from Ness despite her best intentions and most somber moods. She recognized _that_ feeling, and despite her best intentions, she was doing an awful job at resisting it. Falling in love felt so _good_.

She’d been trying to decide whether to say anything or not. She was messed up, and she knew she was messed up. But the war was messed up, too, as was her useless civilian self being on a military ship. She wasn’t sure if the second parts cancelled out the first bits, or made them worse.

_ On the one hand, we could all die tomorrow. On the other, adding in potential high drama to an already hard situation… _

Ness put the book she’d been pretending to read aside and reached out to Liara for distraction. The asari seemed even more drawn into herself than Rhi had been, barely leaving her lair for food. 

The bulk of the room’s many monitors were currently displaying something that looked sort of like engineering or architectural diagrams, though admittedly Ness wasn’t familiar with either. They were shot through with squiggles and patterns too small for her to make out from across the room. None of the lines formed a cohesive _picture_.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Schematics from the Crucible project.” Liara turned away from the screen and sighed. “I suppose it should be top secret, and I shouldn’t let you so much as glance at them, but if no one can understand them anyway, what’s the point?”

“Really?” Ness stood up to get a closer look. “Is it the physics they don’t get, or the instructions, or — oh!” She peered closer. The smaller forms she hadn’t been able to make out had the feel of _writing_. She couldn’t tell whether it was a language with a full grammar or just a group of engineering symbols, but — she quickly scanned two other screens — it didn’t seem to have enough repetition to be something as simple as architectural shorthand. Each shape was fairly complex, too, which suggested a lot of meaning carried per form. “That’s fascinating! It’s semi-pictographic, right? The protheans didn’t leave much written language — I wonder if this actually originated with them, or was adapted from a different civilization. If you were leaving instructions for unknown species, you’d want it to be as universal as possible, but the ideas conveyed must be complex, if it really _is_ an instruction manual. Hmmm...” 

Liara looked at her oddly. 

Ness pulled her attention away from the screens and met her gaze. 

“I’m not just some kid that Rhi has to rescue all the time,” she said. “When I’m not getting shot at I’m a xenolinguist.”

Liara’s eyes lit up, and then her face fell. “I’m sorry, Ness. I _knew_ that, I’ve just been so busy I haven’t stopped to think…” she gestured helplessly at her screens.

“Well, if there’s a _language_ thing you’re stuck on—anything that isn’t a dreadful military secret, I mean—I could take a look. I’d be totally out of my depth, but it couldn’t _hurt_ , right?” Ness had hoped to sound reasonable, but she realized she was pleading. “Please? I _hate_ not having anything to do.”

Liara smiled and summoned her drone. “A fresh set of eyes and a different academic background may be just what we need. I’ll have Glyph put together a data pad. You can take a look at some of the more... intractable… directions.”

Ness was so interested in the problem posed by the ( _possibly_ prothean, _possibly_ grammatical) symbols that she barely noticed the engines whirring to life. She looked up, surprised. “We’re moving?”

Liara nodded, distractedly. “First Officer Nguyen announced it ten minutes ago, but I asked EDI not to blast all the PA chatter down here. It’s distracting.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Liara smiled. “We’ll still get anything urgent. It’s not like I just cut the wires — EDI seems to have very sound judgment.”

“Thank you, Dr. T’Soni.”

Ness jumped a little. It was easy to forget, spending time in Rhi’s quarters, that the AI was _everywhere._ Rhi’s room was the only place on the ship the AI never seemed to speak.

Ten minutes later the door slid open and Rhi herself walked in, looking harried. 

“That was quick,” Liara said, not looking up from her work.

Rhi snorted. “I don’t want any more distractions before I can get this precious supercargo to Tuchanka.” 

“Understandable.” Liara turned now, her face full of worry. “Did you… did you have time to look in on Kaidan?”

Rhi motioned Ness to scoot over and sat down on Liara’s bed, heaving a sigh as she leaned back on her elbows. “I did, but he was asleep when I stopped by. All I did was leave some of his stuff and a note. Got a doc to bend confidentiality enough to tell me he was doing okay, though. HQ confirmed. That bastard didn’t do anything time won’t heal.”

“ _Good_.” Liara’s relief was palpable, and Ness realized that some of Rhi’s current near-relaxation was probably for the same reason.

“He was a friend of yours?” she asked Liara.

Rhi answered. “Liara and I both served with Alenko, back on the SR1. He’s a good soldier, and a good man.”

Liara nodded. “Seeing him run down like that…” she shuddered.

“It’s always the worst when you’re right there and you still can’t _do_ anything,” Rhi said quietly, “But he’s going to be _just fine_.” She brightened. “Ran into another old shipmate at the hospital, too. Did you ever meet Thane Krios?”

Liara chuckled. “I don’t believe we met, but I have considerable information about Mr. Krios, yes.”

Rhi nodded. “Right, he’d left the ship by the time I went to help you with your little problem. Ness, Thane’s the drell who was aboard when you were — not sure you ever talked to him. He kept to himself. Anyway, he’s doing about as well as he can be, I suppose.” 

Seeing Ness’s questioning look, she added, “Kepral’s syndrome. It’s terminal. He’s in the end stages, though you wouldn’t think it looking at him.” Changing the subject, she gestured at the datapad Nes held. “What’s that?”

Ness explained what she was working on. When she started discussing her actual methodology, Rhi suggested she save her breath. “I’m glad to know you’re doing it, I don’t need to know _how_. It looks like a bunch of squiggles to me.”

Ness felt a weird little thrill, half of pride and half of fear. It was strange, seeing the person she’d always looked up to as a pillar of unachievable competence so out of her depth. “No, see, it’s really simple, this one repeats here and here, and —”

Rhi leaned over to peer at the symbol Ness indicated. “Oh, yeah, that one. It’s a one-eyed owl, obviously. Fuck, I’d expect a fancy linguist to know that. And that’s a hamburger.” She turned her head sideways. “Or maybe an eyeball. Clearly all vital engineering information.”

Ness slugged Rhi lightly on the shoulder, her pathetic attempt at a fist bouncing off hard muscle. “You’re teasing!”

Rhi let out the laugh she’d been holding in. 

Liara shook her head, smiling. “See, this is why you don’t try to explain things to our esteemed Spectre.”

“Just point me at the things you want shot,” Rhi agreed amiably.

Ness looked between the two smiling women and felt comfortable for the first time in days. Liara had entirely given up on her workstation to needle Rhi. Rhi was so agreeable she almost passed through into smug. 

_ She’s happy pretending she’s an idiot who doesn’t make huge decisions _ , Ness realized. _At least for a little while._

Soon enough Rhi levered herself off the bed and bid them goodbye. “Gotta get some sleep if you want a well-rested bruiser when we hit Tuchanka,” she said as she headed for the door.

“In case Tuchanka hits back?” Ness asked.

“It usually does,” Rhi said, and the door closed behind her.

———

They reached Tuchanka to find a Reaper already there.

“Only one,” Wrex pointed out. He was looming over the projection of Tuchanka as if he could assert control of his planet by over-shadowing its image.

“We thought there was only one last time.” Rhi wasn’t eager to make that mistake again. 

Tuchanka wasn’t nearly as over-run as Elysium had been, according to reports from the ground. The sole destroyer lurked around a modern environmental mitigation complex situated amid ancient krogan ruins. It must have brought ground forces with it, but there were no processing ships on the surface, and no transports.

Unfortunately the spot the reaper had chosen to hunker was _exactly_ where they needed to be.

Rhi stared at the blip on the map and tapped a finger against her thigh. “Mordin, you sure that environmental installation can deliver the cure to the whole of Tuchanka?” She looked at Mordin. 

The salarian was pacing back and forth in the close confines of the war room, careful never to pace too close to Wrex. Rhi wasn’t sure if he was moving faster than normal if it was just the contrasting company: she, Wrex, and Victus were all still. Fighters conserving energy. 

Mordin rattled off something about deviants from the mean and the impossibility of 100% certainty in complex biological mechanisms. 

“99% of population should be receptive to airborne cure. Some genetic anomalies expected; some individuals may be underground or in sealed ship, not exposed in proper time-frame.” He saw Wrex’s glare, and quickly added, “Injectable version available for any missed by atmospheric dispersal. _Best_ way. Individual administration requires time. Trust.” Mordin eyed Wrex meaningfully. “Broad spread application more efficient.”

Mordin gestured at the holo of Tuchanka. “Tuchankan ecology mostly destroyed. Massive systems in place for maintaining planetary liveability, dubbed ‘shroud’ complex after one of primary functions. L1 point satellites, sun shields, and —” Mordin pointed at the spot the Reaper had claimed, “Atmospheric particle dispersal tower.” 

“With a Reaper on it,” Rhi pointed out.

Mordin shrugged. “Did not say it would be easy.”

They were planning the attack when Shepard received a priority call. The Salarian Dalatrass wanted to speak with her. Shepard would have been happiest if she never talked to the rigid old snot again, it wasn’t a call she could diplomatically refuse. 

_ Hell, maybe she’s realized the error of her ways and decided to offer us full salarian support after all _ . 

She hadn’t.

When the channel blinked off Rhi slammed her fist into the bulkhead in lieu of the old salarian’s face. It took her a moment to cool off, and a while longer to realize that what irked her most about the salarian’s suggestion was the implication that she thought Rhi would do anything but deal straight. 

She’d be the first to admit she didn’t have much use for honor in a fight -- anything worth fighting for was probably worth winning for, even if it meant dirty tricks -- but treaties and diplomatic negotiations… that was the kind of shit where your good word was supposed to _matter_.

Rhi thought of the politicians she’d known, namely Udina, and admitted ruefully to herself that she had no cause for that kind of idealism. Then she went to talk to the krogan Shaman, ‘Eve.’

Shepard would have liked to ask the krogan woman up to her quarters, or at least the conference room, but she was still confined to the medbay. According to Mordin her health was improving, but it would take a little time for the retrovirus he’d fashioned to deliver the modifications he’d made, and longer still for her immune system to resume functioning at full capacity. For now she was stuck, wired up to an array of sensors and an IV drip of something or other, tended by her ever-present salarian doctor.

“Doctors,” Rhi nodded to Mordin and Chakwas, “I’d like a word with our guest. If I’m not interrupting anything…?” They took her hint — Mordin had gotten considerably better at taking hints in his time aboard the SR2 — and left. 

Rhi waited until the doors had closed behind them before she met the krogan’s questioning gaze.

“The Dalatrass wants me to sabotage the genophage cure,” she said baldly. “I won’t do it, of course.”

The krogan eyed her from the shadow of her heavy cowl. “Why are you telling me?”

Rhi leaned back on the med cot. “Because I know Wrex, and I know he’d have an even harder time working with salarians if he knew. He probably wouldn’t start a war, but… I’m not certain. You…” she looked thoughtfully at the krogan. “I don’t think you want another war. But you deserve to know the threat was made.”

“And if I am not so eager to avoid war?”

The idea that she might have read the nameless alien wrong was like lead in the pit of her stomach, but Shepard played it cool. “Then I’d remind you that this Dalatrass is only one person, already ancient by her people's standards, with a lifespan of maybe forty years. She’ll be dead before your first clutch of children can talk. _If_ any of us survive the Reapers, you can dance on her grave then. Perhaps I’ll join you.”

She couldn’t see if the krogan smiled behind the thick fabric that shielded her face, but she thought the muffled sound was one of amusement.

“We would make quite a sight,” the krogan murmured.

Rhi chuckled. “The Dalatrass seems to have a long memory for someone barely older than me. Fourteen hundred years since the krogan wars and the genophage… how many salarian generations is that?”

“Enough generations for stereotype to sink into fact, and for the errors of my grandmothers and great-grandmothers to become mythical horror.”

Put that way the salarian’s inability to believe anything else of the krogan made more sense. Rhi nodded, slowly. “The dalatrass thinks that with the genophage cured, your people will attack the other species. She thinks it’s inevitable. I think she’s wrong. I don’t _want_ her to be right. My decision would be the same, regardless—but I want to know what you think. I’m bad enough at figuring out my own planet’s politics, so maybe you can tell me.” Rhi met the krogan’s eyes. “Is she right? Is a krogan war inevitable?”

The shaman without a name stared levelly back. “You say the answer does not matter to you.”

“No,” Rhi corrected, “I said the answer doesn’t change my decision. No one should suffer something like the genophage, especially not for something they _might_ do. But I still want to know.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care about the krogan?”

It took her by surprise, and Rhi leaned back a bit, thinking. How could she not care, when she’d seen the bodies of the women who gave themselves as test subjects to end the genophage? When she’d talked to Wrex about his fears for his people, and harder, his hopes for his people? When she’d convinced him to pass up the chance of a cure on Virmire?

“The first krogan I got to know was Wrex,” she said slowly, “And I liked him, right off the bat. Wrex…” she trailed off. She’d never bothered to sort out _why_. “He was straight-forward, up front. And he had my back through a lot.”

“He speaks highly of you. And… fondly.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Rhi smiled, remembering a drunken evening of childlike glee she’d promised never to speak of, and the giant, genuine smile when Wrex had seen her alive after she’d been dead. Out of all the people she knew, his had been the only reaction of unmitigated joy. Fuck, but she’d needed that smile then. “The second krogan I knew — not met, I mean really _knew_ — was Grunt.”

“The tank-bred.” There was a note of disapproval in her voice.

“Yes.” Rhi shook her head. “I’ve run into a lot of people who manage to make my childhood look good, but Grunt might be the strangest. Kid’s got issues.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Forgot where I was going with that. But I care about Wrex, and I want something better for Grunt than that crap his brain was filled with. And I know something about the kind of lives people lead when they don’t have anything to live for. The kind of things they do.”

“Indeed.” The shaman closed her eyes. It was the life her people had been living for centuries.

“Also,” Rhi went on, “I’m not so hot at history, but every instance I know of humans trying to manipulate populations it was fucked up shit of the first order, so the whole thing leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.” 

She sighed. “The issue of the genophage has come my way twice before, you know. I blew up Saren’s supposed ‘cure’ and convinced Wrex to let me do it. I was with Mordin when we found Maelon’s experiments.”

“And you convinced him to save Maelon’s data, which probably saved my life. He has told me this.” 

“Yeah, well,” Shepard looked at her feet, considering. “I know there’s some history with research ethics and ‘tainted’ data and whatever, but if I had soldiers die to get me something, I know they’d damn well want me to use it. Anything else seemed like a waste.” She raised her eyes to the krogan’s again. “Thing is, those questions should never have been mine to decide — or any human’s. I did it because I was _there_.”

Eve blinked slowly. “I think I am glad you were. It cannot have been easy to talk Wrex down, and yet I know that what Saren offered would not have been true hope for our people. You were in the place to make a decision, and it proved the right one.” Eve looked around, at Rhi, then the medbay, her gaze seeming to travel to the ship beyond. “I had never left Tuchanka before the salarians took me. I had never seen a human until I met you on Surr’Kesh. And yet _you_ have been present, now, at three pivotal points for the krogan people. Life is strange. I would not have wished for an alien to have that power over my people, but it is done, and being done, I am glad it was done by you. I am glad to see humans treat their women with respect. Your people have placed a great deal of responsibility on you.”

“No more than yours have put on you.” Rhi cocked her head to the side, eyeing the krogan. “You may be the most important person in the world right now, and no one’s asked you what you want. Do you want this? You’ve been through so much, and I don’t remember anyone bothering to ask what you wanted. You’ve been the subject of experiments, a political bargaining chip… if I knew a human woman subject to that,” her lip twisted in revulsion, “expected to breed ‘on behalf of her people’, I’d swear I was in the wrong century.” _And probably shoot someone_.

The shaman fixed her with a stare. “I appreciate your concern,” she said, “But this is _Tuchanka_ ’s story, not Earth’s. When you think of the bodies of my sisters, mutilated corpses rotting in that Tuchankan excuse for a lab, remember that we went _by our own_ _choice_.” 

Rhi accepted the rebuke. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.” Both the reminder not to project and the reassurance that she wasn’t party to something this impressive woman didn’t want.

‘Eve’ nodded. “And you also need an answer to your original question. Are we doomed to war?” She sighed. “Before the genophage, our young fended for themselves. It proved their strength. It was natural that one or two of a clutch would triumph over their clutch-mates. The strongest survived; the weak went back to the dirt. But that was almost 1,500 years ago. Since the genophage, our children have become precious.” 

“The women of Tuchanka are tired of seeing our children dying — whether at their birth or waging pointless war. I do not know what the men want, or how many besides Wrex think past tomorrow. But my sisters and I want children, and a better world for them.”

Unwanted children, scrabbling among themselves, was too familiar — but the krogan story was not the human story, as Eve had reminded her. Still. Rhi’s voice caught in her throat a moment. When she found it, she said, “I hope that after we cure this thing _all_ your children — however many of them there are — are still precious and wanted. Always.”

She straightened up. “And now I better go make sure you can have them.”

———

Joker leaned back in his chair and stretched his hands.

Shepard had been groundside for an hour now, and they still hadn’t got Mordin and his cure anywhere near the Shroud Tower. First there’d been a break for a bit of krogan politics (which mostly meant Wrex pounding his political opponents into submission with his face), then when they’d finally gotten underway their convoy had attracted the Reaper’s attention, far too soon.

Now the vid from Shepard’s helmet cam was dark. Not _off_ dark, just _dark_. Shepard’s vision was being aided by the built-in night vision systems in her helmet, but the images sent back to the Normandy were plain old video.

_ Video of dark _ . 

Rhi’s team had been separated from the main krogan force. They’d headed into the nearby ruins on foot. The ruins were ancient, immense, and at least partially subterranean, but they were a short-cut from the route the cars had to take —  _if_ they could get through. 

_ More importantly, slightly less chance of being pulverized. Slightly _ . Joker skimmed through the available information on the dangers posed by krogan archeology. There wasn’t much to go on. Tuchanka wasn’t seismically active, but between thresher maws and the possibility of Reaper bombardment at any moment, that didn’t mean the ground was going to stay put. As for the ruins themselves, well, no one down there was taking the time to carbon date samples, but most of the ruined buildings on Tuchanka dated to before they were uplifted by Salarians some 2000 years ago. “If it was going to fall down it would’ve done it by now, right?”

“It seems likely,” EDI reassured. “Krogan architecture is… sturdy. However, I do not believe a reaper has landed atop it before.”

“Okay, six outta ten on the whole ‘reassurance’ thing, EDI. You’re getting better, but it’s still got a ways to go. I was doing just fine _before_ you pointed out that possibility.” 

Rhi’d shout if something went wrong. He might not be able to _help_ her, but… _That’s part of the job_. He repeated that to himself several times, reminding himself that watching wouldn’t help and being prepared would. He’d been in this position so often that managing this emotions was a habit: shove down the fear and worry; use the work to be done like a weight to keep it all from popping back up again. _And when in doubt, give the AI crap. Nothing like a little distraction._

Joker turned his attention to the situation in the upper atmosphere, where a squadron of turian fighters had assembled and was flying a holding pattern, ready to make a run at the reaper. They’d try to draw it away once Rhi and Mordin were ready to make a run for the tower.

_ Yup, she’ll be fine. Why get crushed under rubble when you have going toe-to-toe with a reaper to look forward to? _

———

The air was cool for Tuchanka, and very still. The krogan had built massively, giant stone piled on giant stone, and the ruined space left behind felt more like a cave than a building. The work, huge as it was, had been clean, almost precise. On the edges Rhi’s supplemented vision picked out the deeper shadows of ledges and shapes: architectural detail. Not something you normally expected from krogan.

In the corners of one vast room she saw statues. They were bigger-than-life size krogan; some missing limbs or even half their body, but still recognizable. They stood stiff and formal, like sentinels.

She was turning from one of the statues when she saw something on the wall. She thought it was a harder line than would be caused by discoloration, but there wasn’t enough ambient light for her to really see the two dimensional detail. 

“Light,” she warned the squad, and shown a dim beam over the wall.

They were murals.

Rhi raised a gloved hand to trace the shapes but stopped before her fingers touched the surface, remembering something Liara had said once about the delicacy of archeological sites. The krogan rebellions had occurred over a thousand years ago, after the krogan had been uplifted from their war-torn planet to fight the rachni. These had to be even older, from before their first self-inflicted disaster, the nuclear war that had decimated Tuchanka. The frescoes were stylized, but even Rhi could recognize them as art. _Unlike some of that stuff Kasumi stole_.

Rhi looked at the art and grinned fiercely. _So the krogan never had any culture but war, huh? Suck on that, Dalatrass._

“It’s lovely, but perhaps you can appreciate the art another time, hey, babe?”

Joker’s voice in her ear made her smile. “You gotta admit, it’s something to —”

A rain of dust fell down, making her glad for her helmet’s faceplate. “Did you feel that?”

Garrus had. Wrex, on the surface, hadn’t.

“Was that the Reaper? Or a tremor?”

“Definitely not the Reaper,” Joker confirmed. “It hasn’t budged.”

“It may be something… else.” ‘The shaman’s voice cut into the shared channel. “ _Kalros_ is said to live in this area. She is known as the ‘Mother of All Thresher Maws.’ It may be her movements you feel.”

Rhi stared at the mural without seeing it, imagining a thresher maw big enough to cause earthquakes. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“The hell?” Vega was looking around like the maw might be hiding in a corner somewhere.

“When krogan _name_ a thresher maw, you know it’s serious,” Garrus muttered.

“Damn straight,” Wrex agreed. “So get OUT of there, Shepard!”

Shepard waved her squad into motion. She wasn’t going to argue with _that_ order.

They finally emerged from the catacombs into a tumble-down courtyard. The big stones were baked hot by the sun, but in the shadows and crevices green things were growing, and in the distance she could hear running water. 

Rhi had just enough time to gaze in wonder at a side of Tuchanka she hadn’t seen before, lovely even in destruction, and then the wall to her right exploded. Her team dove for cover. 

The reaper’s minions had found them.

Even with Victus’ warning, Rhi hadn’t known exactly what to expect from semi-organic heavy artillery. Whatever the things were firing, it was enough to shatter stone. Luckily the krogan built big: the fallen block she’d ducked behind was a meter thick. 

Two more shots followed the first in quick succession, and then Rhi leaned out of cover and shot back, trusting to Victus’ description of the enemy. _Slow to aim, three shots and pause_. 

Victus had been right.

It seemed like ages before they took the things down, sprinting from cover to cover so the monsters would have to-resight, but they did it. Twice hordes of husks flanked them, trying to scare them out of safety. Rhi tossed them back biotically, flinging them to either side to bounce off the walls or floor. She wished now she’d coaxed Liara out, or that Wrex were with them. Nothing dealt with husks like biotics, but there was only one of her, and she’d been on ice for six months. The mental strain was more taxing than it should have been, biotic use tapping her physical reserves. 

She sipped an energy drink via the helmet tube and switched back to her shotgun.

It was hot, slogging work. Rhi got the last heavy with another biotic surge, flinging herself right into its side and unloading her shotgun point blank. She hadn’t dared use the trick while there was more than one of them. One shot from those things and she’d have been toast. 

She looked down at the fallen monster as Garrus and James trotted over to her. The thing’s blood was smoking slightly, carving little pits in the stone. Acid. She knelt down to get a better look at what remained of its body under the mess she’d made, poking bits aside biotically rather than risk her fingers.

It had _definitely_ been a rachni, once. 

She shoved that worry aside. They had bigger problems, now. _Problems the size of a Reaper destroyer_. 

They exited the ruins to find the convoy, and Shepard breathed a sigh of relief at seeing ‘Eve’, Wrex, and Mordin still in one piece. 

“Need at least five minutes in tower top,” Mordin was saying. “Maybe ten. Have to counteract STG sabotage.” He nodded at Shepard, who’d told him what the dalatrass had revealed after she’d talked about it with Eve. “Cure complete, quantity sufficient, but delivery…” he shook his head in the direction of the Reaper. “Still a problem.”

The turian fighter wing Victus had cajoled away from the citadel DMZ force hadn’t been able to lure the reaper away as they’d hoped. The monster treated them like flies, swatting at them idly. “Normandy may be able to do some damage,” Rhi offered, “But it’s staying so _low_. Makes it dangerous to unload the Thanix.”

“I would rather not harm my planet more than it already has been,” Eve said wryly. “In any case, I have another idea. I suspect you’ll find it rather… unconventional.”

———

Joker had seen Shepard pull a lot of crazy shit, but this took the cake. The turian wing was keeping the Reaper’s main gun busy, but she was right in there with it, dodging the huge legs. She leapt as it brought one down hard enough to shatter stone, landed in a roll, and travelled two meters before she found her feet again.

Rubble exploded not a meter away from her. The reaper’s main beam weapon. The air team wasn’t keeping its attention.

Joker’s hands hovered over the controls, awaiting the word from Nguyen that _had_ to come.

“Take us in, Mr. Moreau.”

He did.

It was a distraction run, nothing more. Even if they could kill the reaper, they didn’t dare. Shepard and her team were right in under its legs. A hit could crush them. A missed shot would hit the planet’s surface, and cause a disaster in its own right. 

Instead Joker took them down as close as he dared and buzzed the thing. He went screaming, with all the speed the Normandy could give him on conventional drives. The ship was a far more heavily armored target than Shepard, down below, but she was also a far bigger one. Speed mattered. 

They passed over the Reaper close enough that EDI could unleash the point defense lasers, a system usually reserved for stray space debris and the unlikely event of a boarding attempt. A multitude of tiny hits flickered over the Reaper’s hull. It didn’t seem to notice the laser strikes, but it did turn to bring its beam weapon to bear on this new, larger threat. 

“Might as well shuffle our socks on the carpet,” Joker muttered, and whisked them out of atmo into safety again.

He’d bought a few more seconds for the turians, and a few more for Rhi.

———

Shepard had no time to notice who flew overhead. The only thing she cared about was the Reaper. Shadows warned her when the giant legs were descending; the beam weapon was preceded by a brief hum. She and her team had dodged it once already: it had separated them, scoring the stone they’d stood on in two. James had shrieked and Garrus had barked a laugh that sounded near hysterical; something about surviving weapons intended for ship-to-ship combat. She told them to cover her and kept going. 

The maw hammers were her only hope, now. Over a ton of metal each, their thumping was supposed to summon the thresher Kalros. 

The Reaper turned its attention elsewhere for a moment, and Rhi dashed. There was the second hammer. She heaved at the huge lever, built for krogan and sticky with disuse. Her muscles strained. The longer she stayed in one place, the easier the Reaper could end her. Finally the lever moved.

The massive hammer dropped to the ground once. Then again.

Rhi barely had time to hope that the mother of thresher maws liked to pick on things her own size. The ground on the other side of the Reaper exploded upwards, rocks and dirt raining down the sides of the biggest thresher maw she’d ever seen. 

The maw raced forward along the ground, shrieking its challenge. The thunder of rocks and sand pushed away under its tough hide joined the huge mechanical noises of the reaper and the incessant rhythmic pounding of the maw hammer. Kalros three-part mouth was open, ready for the reaper.

For a moment Rhi watched in awe. She knew she should run — it was stupid to stick around while giants battled — but wasn’t sure where to run _to_. 

Then the maw hit the reaper. 

Kalros raised her front before she struck, taking the reaper full in the center with all of her force. It staggered backwards a few steps. Shepard leapt to the side as its beam weapon fired wildly, passing a few meters from where she’d been standing. Then the reaper, struggling, changed direction. The maw’s huge body looped around to keep up the attack.

Now the titans were heading right for her.

Shepard _ran_.

She didn’t bother looking behind her or worrying about cover: she just ran. Her full stride ate up the distance, but it was impossible to tell how close the combatants were. The noise was _everywhere_. Rhi cleared the crevice that had separated her from Garrus with a leap taken from her top speed. She didn’t stop to look back until she was out of the complex entirely, back on the flat plain, almost to the convoy.

The thresher and the reaper were still locked in combat. The ground around them was obscured by clouds of dust. The giants were shadowed within it.

Even at this distance, she still couldn’t see the hind end of Kalros’ body. It may still have been in the ground, giving her leverage against the invader. The maw had battled it out almost to the flats, now. If she kept at it, they might get to the tower after all.

There was a shriek of anguished metal, an indescribable sound of rough skin on armor plating, and Kalros lost her grip on the reaper.

The thresher sunk back into the ground, her huge length vanishing nearly as fast as it had appeared. 

_ Fuck, no, come back! _ Rhi actually held her hand out to the thresher, as if the great stupid beast gave a shit what some puny human gestures meant.

The reaper resumed its place by the tower. Rhi’s heart sank. It hadn’t worked, and she was, for once, entirely out of ideas. She took a few steps backward, into the dubious safety of a pillar, and tried to think of something they could _do_.

The pillar was _vibrating_ under her gloved fingers.

She knelt and touched the ground. Through the thinner material of her gloves, she could feel a shiver she hadn’t felt through her boots. 

_ Kalros. She’s still here _ .

The thresher maw burst out of the ground again, twenty meters from the tower. She was moving fast, and her momentum pushed her worm-like body up into the air, higher and then higher.

Kalros descended on her prey from above. Tentacled mouthparts as long as shuttlecraft wrapped the reaper in an inexorable grip. The reaper tried to pull away, knocking over a building as it did so. Both combatants hit the Shroud tower, hard. The top shook. 

Now Kalros was falling back into her tunnel, faster than she’d ascended — and she was pulling the reaper down with her. It rattled against the tower, gouging a track in the metal structure, but it was no match for the Mother of Threshers.

The reaper vanished into the earth.

The ground rumbled, and then was still. 

Rhi stared at the spot where they’d disappeared.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Joker whispered in her ear piece.

Rhi nodded dumbly. Her mouth was dry. After a moment she realized he couldn’t see her nod, and said “Right?” She couldn’t think of anything cleverer. She settled for a long whistle.

The convoy rolled up as the dust settled, and Wrex, Eve, and Mordin piled out. Mordin was talking a mile a minute, and had clearly been doing so for a while, but as soon as his feet hit the ground he shut up, nodded solemnly, once, and took off for the base of the tower, around the outside of the krogan structure where Rhi had activated the hammer.

Rhi, exhausted from her nerve-wracking race around the reaper and her earlier biotics, didn’t register it for a second, and then she ran to stop him. She was faster than Mordin, even fully armored and on a high-grav world. When he didn’t stop at her shouted command, she placed herself squarely in front of him.

“Mordin, wait! That tower’s gonna collapse. We have to find another way.” The edifice was groaning. Parts of the exterior cladding had fallen off, and she thought she saw sparks flickering inside: damaged electrical systems. She wasn’t certain the elevator to the upper command chamber would even function. “We’ll use another vector!”

Mordin shook his head. “No other way satisfies mission parameters. Out of the way. Time of the essence.”

“Then we’ll get a shuttle, fly you up, it can be right there for an evac —”

Mordin chuckled. “STG did not design Shroud facility for easy access, Shepard. Arial entry impossible.”

A blast of hot dust blew past her head. Behind her a chunk of the tower cladding had hit the earth, sending up a puff of dirt. Mordin placed a hand on her arm, his expression softening. The brown dust of Tuchanka settled into the creases of his worn and scarred face, revealing every wrinkle.

Mordin was in his mid-thirties. A few years older than her, if she remembered right.

For a salarian, he was _old_ , and for the first time since she’d known him, he actually looked it.

He smiled. “Fitting, Shepard. Worked on genophage. Work on cure. Full life.”

She wasn’t ready to stop arguing. “Someone else can go —”

He grinned, cracking the mask of dust. “Has to be me. Someone else might get it wrong.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Good bye, Shepard.”

She squeezed his arm once, a goodbye she couldn’t bring herself to speak, and Mordin ran the last few meters to the door.

The run to catch Mordin had been instantaneous. The walk back to the krogan took a lifetime. She walked backwards so she could watch the elevator ascend the tower, her feet dragged in the red-brown dust. Her bones ached. She could feel every spot where she’d hit the ground or the rubble, thrown by the reaper, the places she’d bruised trying to avoid fire from the once-rachni. 

She thought she could see a tiny figure high in the tower command room, but it was probably a trick of the light. 

She finally reached the waiting krogan. Their conversations — three of them arguing, two re-enacting the thresher fight, Wrex giving orders — quieted when she arrived. 

As one, they all looked up to the tower.

“And then there was life.” It was Mordin, on her radio. A blue-white puff emerged from the tower, like a bright plume of smoke. It kept coming even as the first burst was taken by the hot winds of Tuchanka’s upper atmosphere. 

“Very clever, STG sabotage,” Mordin’s continued in her ear. “Easily dealt with, though. Glad it was me. Someone else —”

The explosions started near the center of the tower and spread rapidly upward, their sound drowning out everything else. 

The control room at the top was a fiery flower, and then it was gone.

Rhi felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and turned to find Wrex. The female shaman stood next to him. She stepped forward and clasped Rhi in a hug — a human gesture, carefully done for the human. It was unusual and uncomfortable, and all the more meaningful for that.

“We will remember the name Mordin,” she said. “He worked on the genophage, but in the end he gave himself to put it right.”

“And Shepard,” Wrex added, “will be known as an honorary krogan. Though you were close enough already.” He took both her shoulders, and chuckled. “Urdnot Rhiannon. _My_ family.”

“Which is about to get _much_ bigger,” Rhi said, and hugged him, her armor clanking against his. Wrex’s joy was like a flood, covering up the shock of Mordin’s death. She pulled away grinning. It was impossible not to, with her mountain smiling like that.

“As long as we are discussing names,” the shaman said, “I would you like you to know mine.” 

Rhi turned in surprise.

“Shamans give up their names,” the krogan said, to her questioning look. “But some of us walk the hard path to earn them back, for use by those we deem worthy.” She nodded gravely. “I am Urdnot Bakara, Commander Rhi Shepard, and I thank you on behalf of the krogan people.” She met Rhi’s eyes, her own full of meaning. “For this chance at a _new_ Tuchanka.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a much longer break than I expected. Thanks to all of you who didn't lose interest while I did silly things like play music and wire bits of my house. :) 
> 
> I shall endeavor to present the next chapter in two weeks time, rather than *six*, but as the weather gets better the remodeling call gets more insistent, and the band gets more gigs, so I'm not going to make a specific date promise. 
> 
> Many thanks as well to Rhiannon87, for most excellent betary.


	12. Memoria

Joker, relieved so suddenly from active combat alert by the good offices of Kalros, Mother of all Thresher Maws, found the Normandy a nice stable orbit and went down to meet Shepard’s shuttle. Whatever he’d told himself to get through it, the situation on Tuchanka had been too hot for any kind of comfort. He was used to watching Rhi fight. Elysium had been just another day at the office. Dodging the legs of a reaper was something else. The sheer scale of the thing had driven home how fragile they all were — and she’d been right there under it.

Rhi stepped out of the shuttle, helmet under one arm, and raised her brows in surprise at seeing him in the hangar. 

Joker snapped off an  _ almost _ professional salute. 

She started to smile, then changed it into a more decorous nod. “Report, Lieutenant,” she said. “Walk with me.”

The rest of the team started towards the locker room behind the armory. Rhi headed for the elevator and her quarters, Joker falling into step beside her. Halfway there Vega passed them, grinning broadly.

“Hell of a fight, Lo — ”

Rhi arched one perfect brow at him, and Vega stopped himself short, ducked his head, and beat it to the locker room. Joker looked after him curiously, but Joker was more interested in getting to the privacy of the elevator. Another two meters and they were in, waiting while the doors slid closed.

He waited to kiss her until the thin line of light from the hangar had entirely disappeared.

He was careful: their lips were the only place they touched. Her armor was filthy, and nothing would give away their game quite like a streak of Tuchankan dirt all down his front. She smelled of that dust: a hot, mineral smell. Some of it had blown onto her face when she’d taken her helmet off, a redder smudge on her brown skin, running in sweat-tracks down her forehead. 

He didn’t think the smears at the corners of her eyes had been caused by sweat.

Rhi’s lips lingered a moment on his, and she sighed as they backed apart. “What happened down there… that was…” she sighed again and ran a hand through her shorn hair, ineffectually trying to get it out of her way and only managing to further smear the dirt on her face. “Intense.”

“ Understatement.” He had to resist the urge to hold her. Hugging armor wasn’t comfortable, but it could still be comfort _ ing _ . “You want to talk?”

She nodded. “Is it past first watch mess?”

_ She must be more tired than she’s letting on _ . Usually she had a pretty good idea of ship’s time. “Yeah, by hours. It should be pretty empty there now.”

“Make me dinner?”

He winked at her. The elevator door slid open on the crew deck, and he left to do just that.

Twenty minutes later she joined him, clean and in uniform, having taken longer than usual over her shower.

Joker took one look at her and grinned ear-to-ear. He tried to tamp it down before she noticed, but she caught him.

“What is it, Joker?”

“Oh, nuthin.’” He turned back to the counter, still unable to hide his glee.

“Joker.”

“Nothing!”

“What. Is. It?” she growled.

He snuck a look over his shoulder. Her tired face was totally at odds with, well...

“ Really, babe?” He stopped trying to hide the grin. “ _ Pigtails _ are fucking adorable.”

She kicked a chair over into the mess and slumped down into it, muttering something that could’ve been “I hate you.”

He smiled unconcernedly and went back to work. “You love me. I’m making you dinner.”

“Anyway, they’re not pigtails, there’re three.” She turned so he could see the third little tail sticking jauntily out from the back of her head.

He dutifully looked. “And it’s  _ still _ adorable. Which is totally the look you usually go for. Really fits the military mood. Dignity of a Spectre. Impresses the VIPs.”

“Why the fuck are they called pigtails, anyway? Pigs don’t have two tails!” Rhi wrinkled her nose in consternation. “Not that I’ve ever seen a pig in person. But I’m pretty sure the only earth animals that have double tails are the ones that drink the water around the shipyards.”

Joker shrugged. “You’re the dirtkicker. All our meat was grown in vats, like civilized people.”

“ Civilized people don’t grow in vats,” she pointed out. “ _ Grunt _ grew in a vat.”

He stuck his tongue out her and she returned a kid-like grin. Combined with the pigtails, it was almost painfully cute. And ‘cute’ was so not the word one usually used for Rhi.

_ Highly trained competent adults here, off to save the world _ .

Joker turned back to their dinner and Rhi went back to complaining about her hair.

““It’s too damn short to do anything reasonable with it,” she grumbled. “At least this way it’s out of my eyes. I thought I was going to be squashed flat down there because of my fucking hair.”

That got his full attention. “What happened?”

“A bit got out from under the helmet padding, and I couldn’t reach in to shove it back. Mostly stayed outta my eyes, but the shadow in my peripheral was distracting.”

_ Can’t have that.  _ “ What did you do the first time you grew it out? You were in boot camp, weren’t you? You must’ve figured out  _ something _ .” 

She shook her head. “Boarding school, so it wasn’t so bad. And I had help -- a girl there did it up in braids really tight to my head. Cornrows, y’know? But I never learned how on my own.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “Monifa. Hell. I don’t know why she put up with me, let alone helped me out. Never thought to look her up after I enlisted. Wonder where… damn.”

Joker knew that train of thought went all too well. The answer to ‘I wonder where they are now?’ was all too likely to be ‘crushed under the rubble of a city.’ Of the other options ‘fleeing for their lives’ or ‘fighting the war’ were the  _ good _ ones. What reapers did with living people they caught… that was something no one talked about, much. Better to keep that fear vague and impersonal.

“I was thinkin’ stir fry,” he said. Food was a much safer subject — possibly the safest subject, since Rhi would be happy with pretty much anything he offered in that area. She was willing to eat so much crap that he’d been surprised she was able to recognize anything better, but when he’d finally had a chance to take her out to dinner it had turned out she definitely did appreciate the real deal. 

Even if she had eaten a full meal bar before she went so as not to break his bank account.

While Joker chopped vegetables Rhi took the knives he wasn’t using and sharpened them. The rasp of stone on steel was comforting, at this point. She didn’t like to be idle while he was working, and she was a disaster at anything culinary.  _ Normandy’s got the sharpest galley knives in the Alliance, I’d bet _ . He appreciated it, too, at least until they ran out of real meat and veg and had to rely on the pre-diced freeze-dried excuse for food.

“What was going on with Vega, when you got out of the shuttle?” Joker asked.

Rhi rested the knife on her knee and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Whatcha mean?”

“ He started to say something and you gave him a Look. Like, a capital L  _ Look. _ ”

“Oh, that.” She rolled her eyes. “Few days ago he came up with some truly idiotic nickname for me. I told him he was welcome to continue using it as long as I could call him Mr. Chucklebutt. The lieutenant is… attempting to correct his behavior.”

“ That’s a  _ novel _ command technique.” 

Internally Joker was trying to decide whether it would be worth it to call Vega that, just to see his reaction. The potential ramifications probably weren’t worth it.  _ It was easier before you gave a shit what people on the ship thought of you _ , but _ you just _ had  _ to go and complicate everything by falling for the Commander _ . 

He glanced at Rhi sidelong. She was leaning against the bulkhead, eyes closed, knife discarded nearby, very clearly enjoying the scent of cooking garlic. 

She was  _ beautiful _ .

“ Vega… requires some novel techniques,” Rhi said after a long while. She opened her eyes long enough to reassure herself they were alone, then closed them again while she mused. “Chip on his shoulder’s a whole bloody brick. And he was more deferential when he was supposed to be my guard than he is as a subordinate. Guy’s all tangled up in something — old mission that went bad, mostly. And it can’t help that he’s finally realizing I coulda gotten away from him whenever I wanted. Bit of a blow to the ego.”

“And yet you were a good little prisoner, instead.”

She shrugged. “I could’ve gotten past  _ Vega _ . The sniper in the next building over and the rest of the guards around CentCom, en masse?  _ That _ would’ve been something else.”

The matter-of-fact way she said it made him shiver.  _ They had a sniper on her?  _ He’d never been to Vancouver CentCom himself, but it showed up in the occasional training vid or PR piece, so it was all too easy to imagine the floors red with blood. Alliance personnel, comrades… or Rhi’s.

_ Did she actually consider fighting her way out? _ He scowled at the frying pan.  _ Of course she did. _ Pulling off shit like that was her  _ job _ . It would’ve been like showing him an ‘impossible’ flight scenario. Even if he’d never _ fly _ it, he’d still be working it out in his head.

Five years ago the idea of someone with a plan for killing their way out of Alliance military headquarters would’ve freaked him the hell out. Funny what dating a super-soldier could get you used to.

The super-soldier in question was looking wistfully at the food and talking about James Vega.

“He tried to get me to spar with him a few days ago, did you know? Told him no.”

Joker blinked. Beating the shit out of people was her second favorite form of stress relief. “Why?”

She scowled at the peppers, which had never done anything to deserve it. “I would’ve enjoyed beating him too much. He was looking for a real fight, not a sparring match, and I was ready for one. Instead I had him watch while I punched another dent in that shuttle he wrecked. Just so he’s clear how things stand.” Her momentarily somber mein lifted. “Later I got a worried note from Chakwas about how Lieutenant Vega’s knuckles were pounded bloody, and did I have any idea why?” She snorted. “Seems he’s a  _ bit  _ competitive. No surprise.”

“ Ha! Oh, babe. You’re  _ hard _ on macho guys who’ve got something to prove.”

She smiled. “Good thing I have you.”

“ And good thing we have two shuttles.  _ Had _ , I suppose. We didn’t  _ need _ that piece you dented by any chance, did we?”

She gave him a you-wound-me look. “I checked with Cortez first.He’s been working on the repairs, did you know? Says she’ll fly okay, but she won’t be pretty.” She cocked her head to the side. “What do you think of Cortez?”

Joker shrugged. “He’s okay, for an ex fighter jock.”

“For an ex fighter jock?”

Joker grimaced. He  _ hated _ those guys. Putting on airs and talking about flying the real risks, acting like their skill was higher because they flew a smaller bird. And he couldn’t show them differently, because after fighting for his certs every step of the way that was the only piloting job he was still medically disqualified from. It made sense. Fighters frequently ran without inertial dampeners, saving power for maneuvering and weaponry. They didn’t have any cushion. His chances of getting injured and losing control were just too damn high. But knowing it was reasonable didn’t make it easier when the hot shots got talking.

He shrugged, trying to let it slide away. “Y’know, hyper machismo types.” He smirked. “They’re even worse than  _ marines _ .”

“ _ Thanks _ ,” she said dryly.

He grinned, unrepentant, and held up a full plate. “Food’s up!”

Only when Rhi’d inhaled the first half of her meal did he ask about the elcor in the room.

“How are you doing? About Mordin?” The last time she’d lost someone on a mission, the death had been her call. An impossible choice, made in the midst of battle. She’d born it stoically, he thought, but they’d just been pilot and CO then. He didn’t know what it had been like behind the mask.

He still missed Ash sometimes. She’d been a damn good soldier, but mostly he missed the way she’d call shit like she saw it. Ashley Williams could and would stick her foot in her mouth up to the ankle — then take it right back out, own up, apologize, and move on. He’d liked her. 

Rhi took time over her bite, thinking. 

“I can’t believe he’s dead. I mean, any of us coulda bitten it in the figh, but we’d made it through. The reaper was gone. I thought we’d done it. And then…” She shook her head angrily. “Seems like there must’ve been another way. But if anyone knew how to spread a genetic modification around Tuchanka, it was Mordin.”

“It was… fitting, I suppose,” Joker offered. “That he died fixing the disease he helped make. Or improve, or whatever. At least this way you know it was his choice. He died undoing what he’d done.” He hadn’t usually stuck around to hear the salarian wax philosophical, but he knew he had it in him. “He sought out Eve. He thought this was important.”

“ I know. And I kinda hate that — when it turns out like some vid drama. Life isn’t like that! And then it is, occasionally, and it irritates me.” Rhi thumped a fist on the table for emphasis. “Not that I’d be happy if it happened some other way, but  _ fuck _ the idea of death being ‘fitting’!”

Jeff hadn’t expected that reaction. There was a hell of a lot more there than Mordin’s death. He looked at her, letting his silence be the question, waiting until she explained. When nothing was forthcoming he cupped his hand around her fist, still closed on the table, and rubbed a thumb over her hand. 

“ When I first…  _ came back _ ,” the words came out a little faster than usual, but he was proud of her for being able to say it at all, “I read a bunch of different adventure novels — fantasy, mostly, stuff as far removed from real life as i could get, y’know? Most of ‘em were from Kasumi. And there were a couple that included someone magically coming back from the dead, saving the world, and then  _ inevitably and poetically _ dying again at the end.” She looked sheepish. “Hit a bit close to home.”

_ No shit _ . His hand tightened on hers. If Kasumi’d been around he’d have asked her what the hell she’d been thinking. “How’d you deal with it?”

Rhi shrugged. “Switched to mysteries.  _ I _ don’t intend to have some stupid ‘fitting’ ending.” She smiled up at him, like sun breaking through storm clouds. “I intend to have a long time to creakily rattle off stories like Zaeed while you make me delicious dinners.”

That blind-sided him. Like a broadside of happy, in the middle of shit. A warm glow filled his chest. Rhi had  _ never _ talked like that before. Oh, she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in returning to the dead, even at her lowest, but talking about  _ them _ , together, in some distant future? They’d never come close. They’d been living day-to-day and even hour-by-hour for so long living in the present was normal. Probably even healthy. And Rhi’d flat-out admitted she’d never actually managed anything like long-term before, sohe hadn’t expected her to think that way. 

He ducked his head, hiding the extent of his joy under his hat. Not that he wanted to hide from  _ her _ , but… it was a habit. Self consciousness was a hard beast to wear down.

Finally he said, “I hope when you tell the stories you add gratuitous explosions. Even more than you actually manage daily, I mean.”

“No one’ll believe me,” she said, smiling.

He chuckled. “No one will believe you if you tell the truth. Might as well have fun with it.”

She reached across the table and placed her free hand on his. The playfulness was surface; she’d recognized what she’d said as well as he had. When she met his eyes her smile went all the way to her soul. 

“I’m sorry I said I hate you,” she said gently.

“What? When?” He was taken aback, and then he remembered her grumble when he teased her about her hair. “You were joking!”

“I was. But I still wish I hadn’t said it.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “Where we are now… I’d hate to have something like that hanging there, when anything could happen.”

“I don’t intend to die either,” he said fiercely.

“And we’ll do our best not to, and our best is damn good,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t mean I want regrets if the universe fucks us over. It’s a bastard, sometimes.”

Joker freed his hand long enough to wave a middle finger in the general direction of the universe.

Rhi wasn’t distracted. “I got to say goodbye to Mordin, after a fashion. There are already so many people who’ll never get that chance. So many we probably won’t even know are gone, unless the dust settles and things come out our way.” She squeezed his hand again. “On Tuchanka… Joker, there was so much hope for the future. It could be amazing, despite all the destruction. But there was death, too.”

She shook her head. “We’re never going to hear his singing from the science lab again.”

That touched something. Mordin had inarguably been a genius. He was also frequently irritating, had once woken Joker up at 0200 to ask about his liver function, and was prone to broadcast his internal monologue on open comm channels — but damn, there was something awesome about a super-genius who’d sing at the top of his lungs on a mostly-military ship. _ He had an impressive amount of fuck it, in all the right ways. _

“ We should do something. Mark it.” It  _ should _ be done, but who, how… That kind of thing really wasn’t his strong point. 

“Yeah.” She nodded agreement. “I’ll do a little ceremony tomorrow morning, officially, but most of this crew didn’t know him. Maybe something quieter afterwards? You, me, Garrus, Chakwas… I think Wrex’ll be up finalizing some things with the Primarch. I think he and Eve would like to join us.”

Joker snorted. “Didn’t Wrex want to kill him, most of the time?”

“Yeah. And now he owes him the world. I think Wrex’ll appreciate learning more about him. And if he doesn’t, he damn well should.” She smiled sadly. “But I think he will.”

———

The next morning Shepard held an official service of sorts in the mess hall; formal words for a hero who wasn’t precisely one of their own, but had been one of Normandy’s. The gathered crew were somber. Mordin Solus hadn’t been one of them, but he had been there, and now he was gone.

When the crew was dismissed to their duties Joker remained behind with Garrus and Chakwas. Wrex and Eve joined them. They’d watched the small ceremony from across the room, where they wouldn’t disturb the crew.

“I know we’re all on duty, officially,” Chakwas said once they were gathered together, “But one toast won’t hurt, I think…?” She held a bottle in her hand, but she waited for Rhi’s nod before she poured and passed the glasses around the small circle. 

Rhi hesitated before accepting hers, but raised her glass in the first toast. “To a brilliant doctor,” she said, “may he live long in our memories.”

“ _ Memorable _ is not something Mordin had a problem with,” Joker said dryly after they’d all drank. “Galaxy’s big, but I don’t think there’re a lot a lot of singing shooting scientist salarians in it.”

“He was definitely a character,” Chakwas agreed.

“ He once woke me up at 0300 to ask whether humans could feel anything with their  _ fingernails _ .”

“And he used to distribute interspecies sexual health pamphlets to the crew,” Rhi said. She chuckled. “I think he just liked our reactions, mostly.”

“ Definitely,” Garrus corrected, grinning. “That is, I thought he was serious when he gave me the one on human/turian… relations. When he came by with the pamphlet for  _ krogan _ …  well.”

Eve turned her head to look at the turian. “You find that so unbelievable?”

Garrus spread his arms in a pacifying gesture. “The only krogan on our ship was  _ Grunt _ !”

“Oh.” The shamaness paused. “I begin to understand.”

Joker wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe Eve smiled under her veils.

“ He sang to me, you know,” Eve said. “On Surr’Kesh. Very fast songs, very un-krogan, but… I liked them. It was…  _ kind _ . It was the only thing I saw of a world outside of medical research for a very long time.”

“He was singing when he died,” Rhi said, quietly. “He left the channel open; I heard him on the radio.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then raised them to Chakwas. “You used to sing together, didn’t you, doctor? Seems like there should be music, for remembering Mordin. I don’t suppose you could do anything…?”

Chakwas hand clenched on her glass. Her brow creased in thought. She nodded. 

Chakwas set her glass down and rolled her shoulders back, taking a few breaths in preparation. Her voice fell into a perfect hush.

“ _ Amazing grace, how sweet the sound  _ — “

A lower voice, mellow and honey-warm, joined in the next line. Rhi, her eyes half-lidded, face turned towards Chakwas, sang with a voice that was rich and sweet.

“ —  _ That saved a wretch like me   _ — “

Singing was the only thing he’d ever seen her shy about. He’d never been able to coax it out of her.

Joker closed his eyes to focus on the sound. His mouth moved soundlessly with the words.

When they started the second verse there was a new sound underlying the two women’s voices. It was a low, even thrum that buzzed the deck plating under Joker’s feet. It slid in so seamlessly he almost didn’t notice it, gently emphasizing each phrase. He opened his eyes.

Eve stood, head tilted back, somehow making that marvelous low noise.

Wrex tilted back his head and joined her. His… voice? was rougher. Rumbly, where Eve’s was smooth. The hide at his neck fluttered with the sound, and the vibrations shook down through his chest.

Joker caught Garrus’s eye, and they shared a look that crossed the species boundary. This song   —  unpracticed and alien, the deep voices of the krogan, Chakwas’s clear voice floating above Rhi’s rich one, simple and slow and sorrowful —  was the most beautiful thing they’d ever heard.

———

“Did you know him, when you were on the ship before?” Samantha asked. Ness was headed back down to work with Liara, after attending the brief service for Mordin. Sam walked with her, though her duties were in the other direction.

Ness shook her head. “No. I think we were introduced — it was kind of a blur — but we never talked.”

“ I hate not knowing how to feel. I didn’t  _ know _ him, but he was a person, and now he’s gone.” Sam sighed. “I wish I felt more.”

Ness pulled Sam into the shelter of a ladderway, out of the path of bustling engineers. “Don’t,” she said gently. “You couldn’t do it. Especially not in a war.”

Samantha hung her head. “You’re right — but it’s so easy to be disconnected out here. I see all these messages, Ness. Death tolls I can’t even imagine, reports from cities that have been crushed, ships lost — and I can’t put faces to any of them. It’s terrifying and tragic and huge and I can’t make it feel real! But Dr. Solus —  he was here. I know what he looks — looked — like. I should grieve.”

Her face fell. “But I can’t. I don’t feel anything for him.”

Ness looked at Sam, wanting so desperately to feel something for a man she’d hardly known. There was so much  _ heart _ there, so much caring that she was likely to be torn in two.

She didn’t mean to kiss her.

She didn’t mean to kiss her, and she said as much, right after she stopped, which was almost as soon as she’d started. Samantha was looking at her big-eyed, expression unreadable.  _ Her mouth had been so soft _ …

Ness shrank, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face.  “I’m sorry.”

Sam’s hand settled gently on her arm. “Why didn’t you mean to?” she asked. Her frustration of a moment before was gone. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Of course not! But it’s… hardly an appropriate time. And I should’ve asked.” Ness looked at her feet. “And kind of a lot is wrong with me.”

“ Really?  _ I _ don’t think so.”

Ness dared a peek through her sheltering hair. Sam was smiling. Her words could have sounded teasing, but she meant it, and Ness could  _ tell  _ she meant it, and that just demonstrated how this was wrong, wrong, wrong, because Samantha was a smart, talented woman with everything going for her and she had no idea just how much of a mess Ness was.

_ Then why did you kiss her, idiot? _

“ Look, it’s just…” Ness closed her eyes. “I have so much baggage I need extra space on shuttle flights. My last girlfriend dumped me and I thought it was out of the blue but now I see a lot of the reasons why. I mean, I thought I was doing really well at being normal until I was kidnapped and  _ strapped to a bomb _ , and then I was doing really well in therapy before it was interrupted by a  _ galactic war _ . I’ve got no business even being on this  _ ship,  _ and the only reason I’m here and not starving in a basement somewhere is because I have this weird relationship with Rhi. Which is a whole other screwed up thing, really.” 

She looked up, begging Samantha to understand. “No one should have to deal with me until I’ve sorted my crap out. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”  _ You deserve so much better _ .

Samantha stepped closer, her voice sweet and quiet. “You’ve dealt with all of that, and yet you’re down there helping the brilliant asari with three degrees translate ancient alien writings as if it was nothing… and you expect me not to be impressed?”

Ness bit her lip, overcome by guilt. “Oh. And when I start talking like that I make everything all about me. Like I just did.”

“ You’re allowed to have  _ some _ things be about you, you know.” Samantha’s brown eyes were so warm they almost melted Ness’s panic.  _ Almost _ . “Working on your issues is good, but if you had to have everything sorted before you started a relationship, no one would ever manage!”

Sam tucked a lock of blue hair behind Ness’s ear, brushing away her barriers. She was smiling. Laughing, even. “I thought I’d have to make the first move — you surprised me! And I do like surprises.”

Sam winked. She  _ actually _ winked.  _ Winks and dimples. I was never going to be able to resist her. It was foolish to try. _

Ness gulped. “If you — if you actually want to try this,” and please say yes, “You need to know what you’re getting into.”

“Your bed, hopefully,” Sam said. The twinkle in her brown eyes was wicked.

Ness giggled. “I’ve been sleeping on Rhi’s sofa.”

“ Oh. That… might be more awkward.” Sam giggled, too. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be court martialled for violating the sanctity of the Commander’s quarters.” She made a theatrically thoughtful face, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. “This may take  _ planning _ . And since good strategies take time to develop, you can  _ brief _ me like you think you ought. To make it properly military, on a military ship.”

“When you put it like that, I feel like I should have a slide presentation. I don’t know how to start.”

Sam raised her other hand, holding Ness by both shoulders now, squaring her up as if preparing her to meet the enemy. “Start at lunch mess today, in the lounge,” she said firmly. “I need to get to work right now. Start with your weird relationship with the Commander. Since she’s here, that seems relevant. Start with a hot mug of tea, because tea always helps.”

Samantha leaned forward and kissed her, gently, leaving warmth on Ness’s lips and a glow in her heart. “Start with that. I think that’s enough to be going on with, don’t you?”

  
  


———

“I’m sorry for the loss of your former comrade, Commander,” Victus said. “And thankful, both for his sacrifice and for your assistance.”

Primarch Victus stood in the entryway of Shepard’s office, posture military-precise and wording likewise. He had attended the crew's service for Mordin and paid his formal respects that morning. Whyever he'd sought her out, in the five minutes all day she had in her quarters, it wasn't about etiquette and niceties.  Victus was uncomfortable, too, though if she hadn’t spent so much time with Garrus she wouldn’t have picked up on it.  _Spit it out_.

She leaned back in her chair and regarded him levelly.

“You should know that I have the greatest respect for you and your abilities,” Victus continued. “I have been very impressed by your work—”

He went on in that vein for a breath or two until Shepard raised an eyebrow and asked “What d’you want?”

The small nervous moments of Victus’ mandibles stopped, and he fixed her with a steely stare.

_ Better. _

“I need help.”

_ Much better.  _ “ With what?”

“With a personnel retrieval mission. We… have a team on Tuchanka. They ran into reaper minion resistance.”

Rhi’s internal cool vanished, but externally she held it together, stopping herself from leaping to her feet with an effort of will. The way he’d said that  _ screamed _ ‘ black ops.’  _ What the fuck is he playing at? _ Could Victus be trying to do the Dalatrass’s dirty work, after everything they’d done? 

She schooled her expression neutral and her tone dry. “You sent a special ops squad to Tuchanka at the same time you were trying to seal a treaty?  _ That  _ looks good.”

Victus winced. “It’s for the best, Spectre. Their mission is important.”

“ And their mission is?” Keeping her calm demeanor was getting more difficult.  _ I can’t fight on no information. Not anymore.  _

“Classified.”

“Then un. classify. it.”

“It’s a delicate—”

“ Doesn’t the top-ranking turian have the authority to divulge information if he so chooses?” Victus took a step backward as Rhi rose from her chair. “That treaty is less than twelve hours old. There is a  _ hell _ of a lot on the line here, Victus. I’m not going to risk my ass unless I know what for. If it’s not important enough to risk explaining it to me, then I’m afraid I have better things to do.”

The primarch stared at her for a long while, then he said, “There is a bomb on Tuchanka, planted many decades ago by my government in case of… desperate need. It is capable of leveling a city.”

He looked up at met her eyes.

“We think Cerberus has it.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was much longer in coming than I'd anticipated. Many apologies, but I don't see myself managing a nice tight schedule anytime soon -- the choices are 'late' and 'never' at the moment. On the bright side, I'm installing drywall next weekend! WHOO! LIFE OF EXCITEMENT!


	13. Time Bomb

Kaidan Alenko stood in Counselor Udina’s office, neatly turned out in dress blues. His shoulder was still creaky and the rest of his body stiff from disuse, but he thought he was ready to find out what ‘detached to embassy’ meant.

It turned out he was wrong, but in fairness, there probably wasn’t a good way to prepare yourself to be offered the position of _Spectre_.

“I’ve been working towards another human Spectre position for quite some time, of course,” Udina said. “The rest of the council has _finally_ agreed, and I don’t intend to give them time to change their minds. We need this, Major. Doubly so, since Shepard’s time in the position has been so… dramatic. A man of your track record, and with your, ah… equanimity — would be ideal. You have experience with the Reapers but weren’t involved in Shepard’s more _questionable_ actions. Three years ago, when we were given our first opportunity, you weren’t yet ready. I think your recent promotions prove that has changed.”

Kaidan filed the ‘equanimity’ comment away for later analysis and asked, “What would happen if I said no, sir?” 

It always helped to know your options.

Udina waved that away as if it wasn’t worth thinking about. “Politically? I’d find someone else, of course. It might take time, of which we don’t have much, but you are hardly the only candidate. You would then remain detached to the embassy as additional security detail.”

Kaidan glanced around Udina’s office. It was the only truly tranquil space he’d seen on the Citadel. Sure, it was standing-room only in the public offices outside, but it was a crowd, not a mob. They were _queuing_. Given the circumstances, the embassy staff seemed to have things well in hand.

_ I’d be more use on the front. Anyone would be.  _ He was still achy, but it was nothing a few days of PT wouldn’t put right, and he’d been cleared for biotic work for days. _I could be in the game again as soon as a ship could get me there._

Aloud, he asked “Does the embassy need more security? There’s a lot of people, I know, but they’re refugees. Not criminals.”

Udina looked at him as if he should know better. “There’s a sect on Thessia claiming the Reapers don’t exist and the war is a government plot. There’s a cult on Earth that’s started worshipping them as heralds of the end times. Everyone here has lost their homes, their livelihoods, their loved ones.” Udina shook his head. “People pushed to their limits do crazy things, and these people are well past their limits. Of _course_ we need more security — but I don’t believe it would be the _best_ use of your skills.”

“As Spectre, what would I do, exactly?” Kaidan had been serving under Shepard when she was made Spectre, and he still didn’t really know what was expected of them. Shepard’s circumstances had been… unusual. _Damn, I_ hope _they were unusual_. The alternative was that galactic civilization had always been a complete disaster.

“You would answer to both the Citadel Council and Alliance military command, as necessary. There are twenty-three Spectres of other species currently active on the Citadel; you would have their guidance, at first. Spectre status would mean the freedom to operate relatively unrestricted, to the betterment of the the galaxy — and humanity.”

With his options laid out like that, there really wasn’t much choice — which was presumably what Udina had intended. Kaidan could explore his doubts about the Spectres as an institution after he was one.

The ceremony was mercifully short. Less than an hour after Udina's offer, Kaidan found himself in a small, boring office with a salarian and an asari: two of his new fellow Spectres.

“Politics,” Bau slashed a hand through the air dismissively. “The fact is, you’re a Spectre now because we need a human Spectre. Here. Not getting shot at somewhere in space.”

“Why?”

“You encountered Reapers with Shepard, yes? Familiar with the phenomenon of indoctrination.”

Kaidan’s blood went cold. That was the worst thing about Reapers; far more disturbing than their sheer destructive force. At its most obvious and extreme, it drove people to impale themselves on the spikes they’d been calling Dragon’ Teeth, to rise later as zombie-like shock troops. At its most subtle… at its most subtle, they still weren’t sure exactly what it did, because no one had figured out how to detect it.

“I’m familiar,” he said. “At least, as much as any of us are.”

“We’re concerned about the possibility of indoctrinated people on the Citadel, becoming Reaper tools in our midst,” the asari, Paleris, said. "That’s where you come in."

"You know human norms," Bau said. "Extremely difficult to hunt indoctrination. Almost impossible outside own species. We investigate our own."

“Extremely difficult?” Kaidan looked between them, hoping they had more information than he had. “I would have said impossible, until it reaches the point where they take some overt action.”

“Which is too late,” the asari said. “We have to try.”

“Of course. It’s just…” he balanced Alliance classification against potential galactic security for a moment, and then continued. “When I was called to consult on the defense plans, pre-invasion, we saw footage of a bunch of people — Cerberus, actually — working inside a dead Reaper. We know for a fact that all those people…” he wasn’t sure whether ‘committed suicide’ was the right phrase. Had they been in control of their own actions, at that point? Or was something else driving their bodies? _Murdered from inside_. “...turned into husks.”

They were hanging on his words. _Damn, don’t tell me the experienced Spectres know even less about this than I do_.“It was disturbing. Spooky. But if you didn’t know what was going to happen to them, it could look like… like someone stressed and talking to themselves. Or being forgetful, or having a headache. _Normal_ things. As far as I know, it doesn’t become obvious until very near their… end.”

The asari was staring at him as if her blue eyes could drill into his brain. Which they sort of could, asari being asari. “Do you have that footage?”

Kaidan didn’t even have his own _uniforms_. There’d been nothing left for him at the hospital. It had worried him, a little, that Shepard had either forgotten to transfer his effects or hadn’t cared, but she’d been busy. “I never had it — I saw it at briefings.”

“Damn,” Paleris said. “We _knew_ the Alliance had something like that, but at first they weren’t willing to share classified intel, and now…” she clenched a fist in irritation. “They say they don’t have access anymore.”

Kaidan thought of the battle raging over Vancouver as they’d flown away, and the rubble that had been CentCom. “They’re probably right.”

Bau sniffed. “Lack of back-ups. Poor data management. Very poor. Still, must continue —”

“Wait.” Kaidan held a hand up, thinking. “The people in the vid, the ones on the dead Reaper — they were Cerberus personnel. Who would’ve been investigating a Cerberus project?”

The other two paused a moment, then spoke at the same time. “Shepard.”

“Right. Either Shepard sent the Alliance what she found, or our guys pulled it off the Normandy — either way, _if_ a copy still exists, it’d be in the ship’s databanks.” If they didn’t scrub them clean. A wipe would’ve been standard security procedure, but the ship had been being prepped for Anderson, so maybe…

“Shepard is still a… somewhat unknown quantity,” Bau said. “You knew her. Do you think she could be convinced to send us those files?”

“She’ll share,” Kaidan answered. Only after the words were out did he realize that he’d answered as if it was the old Shepard they were talking about, the SR1 Shepard, the pre-Cerberus Shepard. But it still felt right. _After all, she probably shared it in the first place._ She had mentioned slipping the Alliance intel; he just hadn’t been sure whether or not to believe her. And even if Alliance techs had pulled that vid off the Normandy’s computers, Shepard _could_ have wiped them before turning the ship over if she’d wanted to.

_...well, maybe  _ Shepard _couldn’t have, not without taking most of the ship with it, but she had to have_ someone _more tech-savvy on her crew_. 

Paleris cocked her head to the side. “Why are you smiling?”

Kaidan shrugged. “Oops. Sorry. Just a passing thought. I’ll see about tracking that video down for you — though I still don’t think it’ll do much good.”

“Maybe,” Bau said. “But alternative… unthinkable.”

Kaidan sighed. “Honestly? I’m more worried about what the paranoia can do. Indoctrination is bad enough, but tens of thousands of people who won’t trust anyone because they’re _afraid_ of indoctrination? That... might be worse.”

The other Spectres looked appropriately grim. “That danger had not escaped our attention.”

“That is why it is a Spectre task, not one for C-Sec,” the asari said. “Subtlety, Alenko. We are hoping for subtlety.”

"Tricky," Bau said. "Hopeless? Maybe. But must try. First, compare data, observations of past victims. Then... we have a list of suspects for you. Humans. Deciding about them? Is your job."

———

Rhi leaned back in her chair and looked up at Primarch Victus, standing still as stone in her small office. She took a moment before she spoke. She couldn’t let her initial reaction  to his revelation ( _oh fuck, you’re fucking kidding me_ ) show in her voice.

“I need more details.”

Victus glanced towards the door. “I’d give them, but I don’t wish to raise the suspicions of the krogan aboard ship by taking too much of your time.”

_ You’re not getting out that easy.  _ Shepard waved a hand, dismissing his concern. “EDI! Get me Joker’s channel.”

The AI complied, summoned to Shepard’s normally off-limits quarters by the use of her name. 

“Channel open.”

“Flight Lieutenant.” The title would warn him that she wasn’t alone. “Wrex mentioned that he’d like to speak with you, earlier. I believe he’s in his quarters, preparing to depart. Please go oblige him.” 

“I’m on duty. Ma’am.” Joker sounded wary; he knew something was up. 

“We’re in orbit. Your _duty_ just became entertaining a krogan. Have fun!”

The channel clicked off. Victus looked at Shepard, appalled.

“Did you just send your… _fragile_ crew-member as a _distraction_? The pilot with the limp?”

_ That damn good pilot, thank you very much _ .

“All three of us served on the Normandy SR1,” she said reassuringly. “Along with Garrus, Chakwas, and Chief Engineer Adams. Wrex’s request to speak to Lieutenant Moreau was genuine — I suspect it’s just goodbyes.” 

Actually, she didn’t have a fucking clue what Wrex had in mind — just that he’d been in a really good mood when he asked. At least he hadn’t been doing that misguided protective thing anymore. Wrex had been more of a threat to Joker-her-lover than he’d ever be to Joker-the-pilot. Of course, Victus couldn’t know that.

She smiled slightly. “And my crew knows I wouldn’t send them into any certain-death situation I wouldn’t go into myself.”

Victus paused a moment — probably double checking that his translator was working — and said, “I believe that sentiment is more motivating when you leave out the ‘certain death’ portion.”

She sighed. “Damn. I keep saying that out loud.”

Victus scowled at her. “Spectre, you do not seem to be taking this seriously.”

_ Fuck. Don’t annoy the dignitary.  _ She met Victus’ gaze. “On the contrary. We just managed a historic treaty that might save three planets, and it turns out the whole thing — including, may I remind you, the death of a personal friend — is on the verge of… exploding. Believe me, Primarch. I take that _very_ seriously. The rest is what keeps me sane.” _And not trying to strangle you for the mistakes of your ancestors_.

“I… am afraid I understand that sentiment all too well.” Victus sighed. “But I cannot apply it in this situation. Commander, I only learned of the bomb after I took the post of Primarch. Some hours after, in fact, as I technically ascended to the title in the middle of a war zone on Menae.”

“I remember.”

“I sent a black ops squad to defuse the device as soon as we knew the krogan were willing to talk. They were already on their way before our… detour… to Elysium.” Victus started pacing, an awkward cramped motion in the small space. “If they had reached their target landing zone safely, the mission would be done by now, and I wouldn’t have had to share what may be Palaven’s most dangerous state secret. But they were intercepted, their craft downed. They were laying low, waiting for an evac and another try.”

The pacing stopped. 

“The commander of the team is my son.”

_ Oh. Shit. _

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize this had a… personal element.”

Victus nodded sharply in acknowledgement, clearly unwilling to talk about that _personal element_ further. “I decided to tell you when CDEM stations picked up a signal near the bomb site. A signal I believe to be Cerberus.”

_ Double crap. What the flying fuck are they doing here? _

The council forces that enforced the Krogan DMZ were primarily turian, and all but a handful of them had been recalled to defend Palaven. It figured that the Primarch would have access to their hardware. _Wish I did_. She realized belatedly that she probably could have, between her Spectre status and EDI’s special talents. _I need to get better at thinking beyond the ship_.

“Do you have the data on the signal? I’d like EDI to take a look at it.” 

“Certainly.” Victus tapped at his omnitool. “You might have intercepted it yourself, but Normandy is on the wrong side of the planet.”

Shepard nodded. “Cerberus,” she said thoughtfully. “Your agents didn’t report a dude with ridiculous hair, by any chance?” She muttered it half to herself, not expecting an answer to something so silly.

Victus looked up from his ‘tool, startled. “If we are being completely ‘frank’, I think all hair is ridiculous.” 

“...Fair enough.” She tapped the desk thoughtfully. “That wasn’t exactly a joke, though, Primarch. I’ve been trying to figure out Cerberus’s game. The man I mentioned might be a small piece of the puzzle. EDI, shoot the primarch a pic of the fake archeologist, would you?” She tapped her desk. “Not that I really expect him to show up again, but he is easily recognizable. Forewarned is forearmed.”

“You’re trying to figure out… you don’t know?”

“ _No_.” She said it too forcefully. “Do you really think someone who was in bed with Cerberus would pull the shit I just did to help the krogan?” She caught Victus’ confused expression and cursed herself. _I’m just_ off _today_. “Sorry, human idiom. In bed with, in _this_ context, means conspiring. Friendly. On their side.”

Victus’ look was all too perceptive. “I did not mean to imply that you were… in bed… with Cerberus. I merely thought you might have insight.”

“I wish.” Rhi closed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “I was kept very far from the rest of Cerberus. None of this makes any sense to me. The Illusive Man says he wants human dominance, but _I_ think he’s just mad for power. I suppose a giant bomb is a lot of power, one way or another… but I don’t know what the fuck he thinks it’ll do for him if we’re all Reaper meat.”

“Could he be indoctrinated?”

She’d been wondering the same thing, but she didn’t want to wonder. She wanted to _know_. It seemed too easy, somehow, to imagine all her enemies as tools of the reapers. _And then you’re just a short jump to delusional paranoia_. “It’d make a lot of things make sense.”

“But not bringing you back.”

There were possibilities there she really didn’t want to explore. “That may _never_ make sense. I suggest you try not to think about it. That’s what I do.” Rhi pushed herself out of her chair. “Now, if you’re done trying to give me an existential crisis, we need to deal with your son and your bomb.”

———

Joker checked that the cockpit doors behind him were closed and whispered “Hey, EDI. What’s going on?”

There was no holographic projection anymore to give a physical indication of her attention; only her voice. “Shepard conveyed a request given to her by Wrex, Jeff. As he is our diplomatic guest and a person of some importance, it seems sensible to accede.”

“Yeah, sure, but _what’s going on_?”

“Ah…” There was one of her ‘thinking’ pauses, less to let her process, he suspected, than to convey the idea of thinking to _him_. “The turian Primarch wishes to discuss something which may be sensitive with Shepard, and wanted to know Urdnot Wrex was otherwise occupied.”

Joker snorted. “And she couldn’t just tell me that?”

“I believe she was taken by surprise, though since I did not monitor the beginning of the conversation I cannot be sure.”

“Right.”

“Does this change something?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m still going to go meet certain death by krogan. S’all good. Look, see, I’m going, I’m going!” 

Joker heaved himself out of his chair and went aft, trying to quell the impulse to nervously straighten his uniform. Wrex wasn’t really going to kill him. Probably. It’s just that he had no idea what _else_ Wrex might possibly want him for, if not to discuss, well, Rhi, and _that_ could be anything on a scale from ‘the most awkward thing ever’ to ‘murder’. Which was a pretty shitty range, really.

Wrex was ensconced in what had been the port side lounge, hastily remade over into guest quarters. Joker stepped inside, wondering if he’d ever step out again. The door whispered closed.

The krogan was hefting a weighty glass bottle, probably to bring down on Joker’s head.

Joker pictured Rhi, bright smile and delicious brown thighs, and decided his last words would be "It was worth it."

Wrex's jaw dropped in a krogan grin. "You should be damn proud of yourself, boy. Didn't think you had it in you." He nodded his massive head. "I think you're good for her."

Surprise joined the fear gluing Joker to the spot as Wrex gave him a (exceedingly gentle by krogan standards, bruising by Moreau-standards) slap on the back. From the bottle the krogan poured a giant tumbler of something that smelled of alcohol and motor oil. Joker took it in a daze.

"To any male lucky enough to end up with a damned impressive female!" Wrex clinked the bottle to the glass and took a swig.

Joker could feel the liquor burning down his throat, and his back was already starting to bruise.

Wrex's wrath wouldn't kill him, but his congratulations still might.

If straight-up fucking surprise didn’t do him in first.

———

Rhi had gotten her big growth spurt young, and she was used to being taller than most women, but surrounded by the fully-armored turian ops team in the close confines of the shuttle she was starting to understand what it was like to be _short_.

The kodiak was loaded past capacity, and they’d still had to leave three of Lieutenant Victus’s soldiers behind: two walking wounded under the protection of an able-bodied riflewoman with basic field medic training. 

Victus Junior —  _Tarquin_ , she reminded herself — had left four others under the Tuchankan soil, victims of the same Reaper attack that struck down their ship. The bodies had been stripped of armor and identifying items, down to the implanted chips each soldier had born under the skin where cowl joined shoulder. Rhi had watched while Tarquin gouged them out himself, congealing blood sliding over his fingers. 

Now they waited in an over-crowded shuttle while Cortez flew them low over the harsh Tuchankan landscape, straight into who-knows-how-many Cerberus troops.

_ And a big ol’ fucking bomb _ .

“Is there an interface to disarm it?” Liara was asking. “Do you know how it works?”

Tarquin glared at her. “It’s ancient, well documented technology, which we were sent here specifically to disarm. _Yes_ , we were trained how to do it. All of us.”

Shepard would have been more comfortable if he didn’t keep using the term ‘ancient.’ Old munitions were the scary ones. You never knew whether they were just going to sit there or go off if you breathed on ‘em. 

_ Turians have centuries of experience on us here, though _ . They’d built the bomb as a _long-term_ safeguard, intended to lie dormant. She’d just have to hope they’d built it _well_.

“I’ll take the disarm sequence,” a gravelly voice from the back said. 

Shepard tried to glimpse the speaker without visibly craning her neck. He was an odd one. She’d noticed him shrinking towards the back before they boarded the shuttle: a cool, aloof male. She’d glimpsed his mandibles fluttering in speech, but he’d been silent.

_ Death wish _ , she decided, _or something else screwed up in his head_. She wouldn’t have allowed him to take such a pivotal position, if he were on her team, but this was the Lieutenant’s call.

Tarquin inclined his head gravely. “Then you will have that honor.”

_ Oh hell _ . Maybe she was just being paranoid. They _were_ aliens; she could’ve misread him.   _We’ll just have to wait and see_.

The feeling still nagged at her through the shuttle ride, though, so just before the approach she pulled Victus into the privacy of the cockpit. “Your volunteer…” she left a pause into which he helpfully supplied the name “Cavicus.”

“Right. You notice anything odd about him?”

Victus sighed. “Cavicus’ last mission was on Palaven… in the Capital.” The same capital that had been a firestorm visible from the moon Menae, a bright blaze picked over by the silhouettes of stalking Reapers. “He accomplished their mission… but he came back alone.”

_ Survivor’s guilt and a shit-ton of recent unprocessed trauma. Great _ . “You sure he’s gonna hold up to this?”

Victus looked affronted. She’d been afraid of that. It was always tricky questioning another commander’s decisions, but they couldn’t risk blowing this on a newbie mistake. Strong face aside, Victus was as green as spring grass, at least where command was concerned. A fresh-faced lieutenant who would’ve been guided by a seasoned NCO… if that NCO hadn’t been killed in the first attack.

“Cavicus wants a chance to redeem himself,” Victus explained. “You and my team are giving me that chance. I will give him his.”

“It’s your call,” she said neutrally. She didn’t give a flying fuck about redemption or honor. She just wanted the mission to go off right. “We’re almost on top of the drop. Go out there and rev ‘em up, kf — Lieutenant.” 

She had to stop thinking of him as a kid.

———

Joker stumbled out of what was, if not the most awkward hour of his life, at least a strong contender, and immediately flicked on his omnitool. He’d felt the ping of an incoming message in the pattern that meant it was from Rhi ages ago, but at that point Wrex had been waxing eloquent about the things he expected for and of Shepard, with bonus digressive anecdotes about life lessons he’d picked up five hundred years ago. It had taken almost an hour to extricate himself. 

At least that meant the one slug of really deplorable whisky he’d downed for the sake of politeness had mostly worn off. If he’d had any more, he wouldn’t have been able to keep the cursing when he finally read Rhi’s message in his _head_ , and the whole crew would’ve known something was up.

_ Shit. Shit shit shit _ .

She’d taken a team planetside, into a combat zone, without telling him? Without telling anyone? Shit, she was down there right now! He walked as briskly as he could towards the elevator and the helm, anger rising. 

In the quiet of the elevator he finally bothered to read the second part of the message. The part about _why_ Rhi’d snuck out into danger. The part that ended with an order to scrub the message after reading. 

This time he didn’t manage to keep the curse in his head.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

———

Cortez set them down a good run from the Cerberus signatures, coming in low behind a rank of massive krogan buildings. From the air they’d looked abandoned, but jogging through them Rhi saw signs of life: scraps of fabric, discarded dishes. The little leftovers of a people eking out survival in a wasteland.

_ Everyone must have gone to the meeting grounds when we came back with Wrex and Bakara.  _ She hoped so, anyway. It was either that, or Cerberus had a pile of krogan bodies stashed somewhere. 

They fanned out and ghosted through the buildings, heavy boots carefully quiet on the worn concrete floors, down towards the basement levels at the center of the complex. Here and there were signs of recent disturbance, but only when they approached the bomb site itself did they see people: Cerberus in white and black armor, arrayed around an open pit in the center of a huge sub-basement. Most were in guard positions, others resting in a makeshift camp. Over the pit a massive object hung, suspended from the arms of a crane. 

_ Holy fuck. That’s the bomb _ .

It was _huge_. She’d known it had to be, to fuck up a planet so bad turians would consider it sufficient insurance, but she still wasn’t prepared for it. None of the munitions she’d ever seen had been a tenth of the size.

_ At least if it triggers we’ll all go quick _ .

She checked that Garrus had found a sniping position, and Liara was ready near her side. The turians were arrayed around them, silently watching the scene below. Cavicus stared at the bomb with single-minded intensity. 

She caught Tarquin’s eye. He nodded, and they raised their hands to signal as one. 

The joint team exploded out of the doorway into the resting Cerberus troops.

———

Joker tried to raise Rhi on the comm twice before EDI’s patient explanation sunk in. _Black op. Went in dark. Right_. Shepard had disabled all the comms before they dropped. He wouldn’t know anything until the end, one way or another.

He _hated_ it. 

Only Cortez was still reachable. His was wary, at first, as if he wasn’t sure whether Joker was supposed to know what was going on or not, but Joker ignored his doubt and acted like _of course_ he knew, why wouldn’t he? As if, for instance, Shepard had informed him in the line of duty instead of in a very personal note that a nifty little bit of security software was currently scrubbing from his omnitool.

_ Have to do hers, too, when she gets back _ . She’d follow the instructions if he told her what to download, but she never put much thought into her ‘tool. She probably hadn’t even customized the one she’d picked up from requisitions, yet. 

_ When she gets back _ .

All Cortez could tell him was that the drop was clean. All Joker could do was wait.

———

The first targets fell quickly under a barrage of fire. Within minutes it was a mess; a scrum of individual battles and shifting targets, too many people on either side to keep a clear view of the fight. 

Rhi looked up from a man she’d just taken out to see Cavicus heading for the control panel with single-minded determination. The big turian stuck out like a sore thumb: the only person in the scramble moving in anything like a straight line. 

_ He’s gonna get himself shot _ . The snipers had dropped the three targets closest to the panel, but there were a lot of people on the field, and Cavicus screamed ‘target’. She scanned the battlefield. There. A white-armored figure was drawing a bead on him. 

She pulled her shoulders back, gathered a ball of energy beneath her sternum, and charged. 

She crossed the intervening space in an instant and returned to normal speeds riding a wave of inertia, with her shoulder aimed squarely at the Cerberus trooper’s torso. The blow knocked him onto his ass a full meter away. The trooper lay motionless, winded. She finished him with the shotgun. 

She whirled to check on Cavicus. He’d made it. For now, he was safe.

———

“Jeff.” EDI’s quiet voice interrupted Joker’s very focused and productive occupation of staring blankly at the helm controls. “There have been no unusual readings from the planet’s surface.”

It took him a moment to process that. “You mean a mega shit ton bomb hasn’t gone off?” 

“Correct. Also, Shepard’s suit contains standard SOS-recover programming. Even with the comm units switched off, it would still send a signal in the event of… wearer death.”

Joker smiled wanly. She really was _trying_. “I’m pretty sure switching those off is standard operating procedure for black ops,” he said. “Can’t have anyone tracking your body where you’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course,” EDI said. “But I would be very surprised if Shepard had done so in this instance.”

His brow creased. “Why?”

“Because having your lover waiting in orbit is _not_ standard operating procedure, Jeff.” 

“Thanks, EDI.”

———

The fight was a blur of gunfire and shouts, exertion and focus and hard, dirty work. The dry dust of Tuchanka turned to red mud around the Cerberus corpses. Shepard fired one handed; the other guided the biotic emanations that kept their flanks clear, pushing the enemy off-balance. They were winning, the Cerberus troops falling before their more concerted onslaught. White armored figures littered the ground, with only a single turian body beside them. 

Behind her Rhi heard a furious shout from Tarquin, in the area that _should_ have been cleared. She turned just in time to see him lunge for Cavicus.

Her earpiece translated his scream as “Betrayer.”

Shepard dropped the shotgun to the dirt and pulled the carnifex from her hip in one fluid motion. The combatants were too close to each other for her to help biotically — fine control had never been her strong suit — but at this range and angle, Cavicus offered a clear shot. 

She took it. 

Cavicus’s kinetic barriers were compromised by the hand-to-hand with Tarquin. Her first shot hit him square in the side, the powerful carnifex piercing the first layer of armor. He staggered, still locked with his assailant.

“What are you DOING?” Another of Tarquin’s men was running towards her. She shoved him off and fired again.

Cavicus dropped like a stone. 

Tarquin looked up at her. He was moving too slowly, shock showing in his body language.

“Get in cover!” she yelled. Jolted out of his surprise, Tarquin ran, vaulting over a fallen block to hide on the other side. She checked her six and sprinted after him, armor screeching over the rough concrete as she flung herself feet-first over the block and into relative safety. 

“What the hell happened?”

“Cavicus,” he said. Tarquin’s voice rattled with exertion, or fear. “It was taking him too long. Went to help — he wasn’t disarming the bomb at all! I demanded to know what he was doing. He — he went mad. Said something about his old team and, and pyjack stew? And _flowers._ It made no sense! I had to shove him away from the panel. We fought. Then you…”

She had a dreadful suspicion she knew exactly what had gone on with Cavicus, but the middle of a fucking battlefield was _not_ the time to explore it. 

“That part’s over,” she said. “We’ve still got a live bomb. Can you disarm it?”

“When he realized he was caught, he shot the panel. It’s useless. I can pull the detonation charges manually, but I’ll be exposed.”

“Do it. We’ll cover you.” The Cerberus team they’d surprised was almost accounted for, but more were pouring from the ruins like flies from a kicked corpse. _Where the fuck are they getting them all?_ She slapped Tarquin on the shoulder and turned to face their foes.

———

Joker rattled out a rhythm on the arm of his chair. Distraction. Distraction was good. He’d feel like an utter asshole playing a game or watching a vid at a time like this, but he had to do _something_. He could hardly take his nerves out of the cockpit, either. The rest of the crew had no idea what was going on. 

“EDI,” he asked finally, “How’ve you been getting along, now the crew knows about you?”

“I am still operating at full capacity, Jeff.”

“I know that. But how are you doing? Has anyone been a problem?”

“There have been no problems,” she said, then paused. “I have recorded a thirty-four percent decrease crew interactions with me as compared to those with the Cerberus crew, after accounting for the increase in crew roster vis a vis that mission,” she said. 

He frowned. “It’s an Alliance ship again. Could be they’re all a bit more conscious of the rules.”

“That was my first hypothesis,” she agreed, “But I currently believe the phenomenon is more subtle. The Cerberus crew frequently approached my hologram. With my lack of apparent physical locus, these interactions are reduced.”

_ Out of sight, out of mind. Or maybe just easier to think of her as only a computer. _ “Does it bother you?”

She paused again, another one of her ‘this indicates serious contemplation’ pauses, programmed for the benefit of her human comrades rather than her own processors. 

“I am not ‘bothered.’ However, I did enjoy the greater level of casual interaction when it was present. Thank you for asking, Jeff.”

“‘Course. I shoulda done it sooner.”

“As I just observed with the crew, it is easy to forget about me when I do not have a visible aspect.”

He scowled. “I don’t _forget_ about you, EDI,” he said, “I just don’t… I don’t _worry_ about you. I forget to ask ‘cause you’re reliable. We can count on you. I _worry_ about the FNGs behind me and whether they can handle _Normandy_ ,about keeping things with Rhi hush hush, about my family on Tiptree...”

“You have a lot on your mind.”

“Well, y’know, just a few things, really. Plus quietly panicking about the whole impending-death-of-the-galaxy.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But near certain universal doom’s a pretty crappy excuse for ignoring a friend. So, y’know. Sorry.”

Shit, it _had_ been easier to talk to EDI when she’d had a hologram. It made you feel like you knew what to avoid looking at when you said something awkward. Not that it meant anything — she had cameras all over, not just near her holoprojectors — but it _felt_ better. 

His fingers moved nervously over the auxiliary system controls. Without thinking about it he tapped repeatedly at the blank spot that should have held Rhi’s helmet feed. He stopped when he realized what he was doing.

“ _Damn_ it,” he whispered.

“She’ll come back, Jeff,” EDI said softly.

He didn’t even dignify that with a verbal response, just raised his eyebrows in the general direction of the main cockpit camera. 

“Of course I have no way of knowing,” EDI amended, “But a review of available data suggested that ‘quiet confidence’ was the most reassuring gesture in this situation.”

He had to chuckle at that. “Y’know, you really are a sweetheart, Thing.”

———

Shepard was fighting furiously to keep the heat off of Tarquin. He’d climbed out the arm of the crane and was now working his way spider-like across the nearly-smooth surface of the bomb. She and the team had to stay on the offensive, or the newly arrived Cerberus reinforcements would notice the lone turian who might as well have had ‘TARGET’ stamped on his back.

There was a rattle, and she risked a look back behind her. Tarquin wrestled the first charge free, leaned out over the pit, and let it fall. She didn’t hear it land.

She sent a biotic wave along the ground ahead of her, tossing the energy like a skipping stone. The enemies in her path dove aside or were flung into the air. One of them hit a ceiling beam, hard. The others were picked off from the shadows. Either Garrus or Tarquin’s sniper.

_ How far underground was that thing? _ _Victus said they’d aimed it at a fault line_. _Thank fuck Cerberus wasn’t able to detonate it remotely._

More sounds behind her, an echoing rattle. Tarquin had dropped another charge down the shaft.

_ Two more to go _ . Any one of them would be enough to set off the bomb. The turians hadn’t left anything to chance.

Another onslaught came just as Tarquin freed the third charge. They heard them before they saw them, but Cerberus had had time to scout out the ruins; Tarquin’s team hadn’t. The enemy came from all sides, this time. 

Her position was about to get way too hot. Shepard locked on a target on the other side of the room and charged, leaving the three goons who’d been closing on her to shout in frustration. This time she moved with her target as he flew back, yanking him up before he’d hit the ground, using her momentum to spin him by the shoulder, swapping places.

He took the first barrage meant for her. His corpse took the second.

Then she was moving again, keeping low and using cover, firing at any white that crossed her field of vision, hoping her unpredictable assault might keep the heat off of Tarquin.

It wasn’t enough.

Tarquin shouted.

Rhi was trying to track a Cerb through the haze of a smoke bomb he’d thrown, but she saw Tarquin slip out of the corner of her eye. The side of the bomb where’d clung was spattered with blue turian blood. 

He fell.

Rhi spun, flinging a biotic pull towards him — and a triple burst shot from a Cerberus SMG caught her exposed side.

The first two shots drained the power from her kinetic barriers. The third slammed home, shattering the ceramic plating and knocking the wind out of her.

Rhi folded to the ground and watched the energy field she’d desperately flung dissipate, meters off of its intended path. 

Tarquin Victus was gone, but he’d pulled the last charge as he fell.

Rhi pulled her hand away from her side and unloaded the carnifex at the mook who’d hit her, cursing all the while.

———

The Normandy’s hangar was empty when the kodiak docked. Rhi climbed slowly out of the shuttle, her side aching and her heart heavy.

“EDI, please ask the Primarch to meet me in the medbay. And let Joker know we’re fine.”

Ness ran into her on her way there, saw the wreck of her armor, and gasped in dismay. “Rhi!”

“Armor did what it’s supposed to do, Ness.” Rhi started to chuckle, charmed by her naivete, but the movement ramped up the ache in her side to real full-on _pain_. “It’s just a big bruise underneath. You’ve had worse.” She hoped it was a big bruise. _I can’t afford a broken rib right now_.

Ness rolled her eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Not really, but we take what we can get. Scoot. I’ve gotta see the nice doctor lady.” _And tell a man his son is dead._

She should probably have gone to his quarters for this, but a nicer environment wouldn’t make her news any better, and bits of the shattered plating were digging through her under armor. 

She arrived in the medbay before Victus, and Chakwas came at her with a look that meant “Strip, soldier.” Rhi started to twist to remove the damaged section, but she was already stiffening up, and the pain surged back full force. She let Chakwas and her medtech do it, instead, holding her arm away to give them access to her side

Victus arrived while Chakwas and the tech were still working on her armor, leaving half her torso in the slick underweave and half still bulky in plate. 

Rhi gave Chakwas a pointed look, and the doctor sent the tech on an errand, then stepped outside herself.

“We were successful,” she told the Primarch, and finished in a softer voice, “But your son... is dead.”

His cold alien face didn’t change, but he dropped to a chair as if hamstrung.

She closed her eyes a moment, giving him that much privacy for his pain.  

Victus was silent a moment, mandibles moving as he tried to find speech. 

_ Turians don’t cry, and neither do leaders in wartime.  _

“How?”

Rhi looked right at him, as if she’d been delivering a report to a CO. “One of the men on his team was indoctrinated. He attempted to… sabotage the mission. The Lieutenant stopped him.” 

Victus’ lifted his chin a little, pride fighting its way through grief.

“The traitor damaged the control panel; the detonation charges had to be removed manually to defuse the bomb. It was an exposed position. Lieutenant Victus went himself.”

Victus nodded sharply once, then again, as if his body was stuck on repeat. “Thank you, Commander. I will return to my own fleet now. I… would prefer to be alone for a few moments.”

“Primarch —”

“I know. You tried.”

“ _Victus_ ,” she said, catching his gaze and holding it. “He _won_.”

That got him. He bowed his head, speechless, and clasped her arm with one three-fingered hand, squeezing briefly before he hurried out of the room.

Rhi hung her head and let exhaustion wash over her. Chakwas and her aide showed up at her side again, fussing at the remains of her armor, and she followed instructions automatically as they got the plating off and the underweave stripped down to her waist. Chakwas tutted as she cleaned up the mess of medigel that had cured uselessly on Rhi’s side. The ‘gel had numbed her skin, but her insides still felt like she’d been stepped on by a krogan. The doc gave her something for that, too, though they both knew her ‘upgraded’ system would process the drug out within a few hours.

“Nothing broken, thank goodness, but you’ve got a bruised rib to go with the bruised everything else,” Chakwas told her. “Please don’t do anything foolishly athletic in the next few days. And I’ll need you back here every twelve hours for the next while, to make sure none of the clots from this little excitement decide to go on an excursion.”

Rhi left the doctor grumbling about the potentially deadly side effects of genetically enhancing marines’ clotting factors and made her way slowly up to the helm. The shot had dulled the ache, but she was already stiffening up, a heavy soreness radiating out around her torso, punching her in the side when she tried to straighten up. She stepped into the elevator feeling a hundred years old.

When she stepped out of the elevator into the CIC she was walking at her normal brisk pace, straight backed and energetic. She greeted the crew as if she’d spent the last few hours in her office, smiled at Traynor, and went forward to talk with Joker.

She’d have time to collapse later. For now, everyone needed the act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worry about my fictional space marines dying of strokes because of their genetically modified clotting speed. After they retire, do they get their cells rewritten again, or are they just all on blood thinners? These things are important!
> 
> Oh, and speaking of medical issues: Your devoted though frequently preoccupied author broke her finger on Saturday, because she is NOT a hyper coordinated buff space marine. So while I suddenly have a little more time to write (since I can't play music or work on the remodel), actually doing so is... tough. And slow. And involves lots of backspace.
> 
> Many thanks to Rhiannon and Musanocturna for beta reading and brainstorming help, without which I would probably have given up already.


	14. Judgement

 

The day after the mission, Rhi called a very select meeting in her quarters.

“Nguyen, Liara,” she said. “I need you to find out if any of the crew have had the opportunity to be anywhere near a Reaper — or a Reaper artifact, or even a bit of a Reaper. _Quietly_.”

Rhi met each pair of eyes in turn, holding them for a moment. Liara, Chakwas, Joker. Nguyen, her slight wrinkling of brows as as good as a shouted question.

“One of the turians on the mission I ran yesterday was indoctrinated. If there’s a chance that they’ve got one of us… we need to know.”

Liara’s blue eyes went wide. “Shepard, we were still finding new Reaper artifacts up until they arrived! And the pieces of Sovereign were _never_ all accounted for. I can’t begin to be certain of where they _aren’t_ — even in my… special capacity.” She flicked a glance sideways at Nguyen, the only person present who didn’t know of her role as Shadow Broker.

“That’s more information than most people have, Liara,” Rhi said evenly. She tone her voice matter-of-fact, antidote to Liara’s near-panic. “We work with what we’ve got. A lot of these people were stationed on Earth — I think you can assume they’re reaper-free. Unless they were involved in high level research or the black market or something, I suppose.”

Nguyen nodded as she spoke, already planning. “I’ve only got access to full files for half the crew. I can narrow it down if we assume Earth is safe, but the rest… the Alliance data systems are a disaster ever since Arcturus.” Nguyen pursed her lips. “I suppose… I can always play the obsessive military bureaucrat. ‘Just filling in your paper trail. Can’t have gaps in the record, it makes my spreadsheets look bad.’”

“Perfect.” Shepard nodded approval. “I know this is a shot in the dark. But we’ve got jack shit to work with, and the possibility…”

Liara shuddered, and Nguyen looked grim.

“Some people are saying _you_ have a way to tell,” Joker said. “Ever since the first reports of indoc started coming in from Earth.” He’d been leaning against a wall, behind the others, trying to be out-of-the-way and unnoticed in Shepard’s over-crowded office. Now he head everyone’s attention.

Rhi scowled. “What? That’s ridicul — wait. No.” _Damn, but I hate the subterfuge crap._ “That’s good. Keep that rumor going, if you have a chance.”

“What?” Now it was Joker’s turn to scowl.

Liara had grasped it immediately. There was someone who was good at spy work. “It might scare someone into the open, or cause them to change behavior enough that we notice.”

Shepard nodded. “Right.”

Nguyen shook her head. “Tenuous.”

“It is. And we’re still going to do it, because the truth is I _don’t_ have a way to tell. No one does. We’re flying blind and the only thing worse than having potential traitors on the ship is everyone fearing that possibility.” Rhi tapped her closed fist on her desk in emphasis. “We have to get out in front of this. Once people start doubting their crewmates, the Reapers won’t have to do anything. The fucking paranoia would doom us.”

Joker nodded.

Nguyen shot him an odd look. “Not to be, ahem, ‘fucking’ paranoid,” she enunciated it primly, “But may I ask why Flight Lieutenant Moreau is included in this discussion?”

Shepard nodded gravely. She’d expected that. “You and Dr. T’soni have the best resources to check up on the _crew_. Joker… knows _me_.”

Nguyen drew her brows together in thought. Liara gasped. Rhi didn’t look at Joker. She didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

Rhi was glad Liara was scared; it made it easier for her to be strong — and she had to be, because what she was suggesting was fucking terrifying. “I will bet our main gun that I’ve spent more time near Reapers and Reaper shit than anyone else on this boat. I was in the Reaper corpse over Mnemosine. I was out cold for two solid days within spitting distance of Object Rho, which I _know_ indoctrinated the people researching it. The Illusive Man used some kind of Reaper code to build EDI, and we have no fucking idea what he might have had them put in _me_.” Rhi swallowed the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, and said quietly, “Joker is the most likely to notice if _I_ start to change.”

Nguyen looked between them, her mouth a hard, thin line. She gave a sharp little nod.

“Shepard —” Liara’s face was a picture of misery.

Rhi caught her eye, and didn’t say a word. She felt cold, and she knew it showed on her face. _This is the reality we’re in, Liara. Crying won’t change it_.

Gradually Liara pulled herself together and matched Rhi’s steady look. Finally she nodded.

Rhi released her gaze and turned to the others. “That will be all. You have your tasks. Joker, stay back a moment, please.”

Joker waited at a sloppy version of parade rest until the door closed behind them, and a breath longer. Then he was in her arms, or she was in his, and he was whispering fiercely in her ear. “ _You_ are _fine_. You _will_ be fine. They _don’t_ have you and they won’t get you.”

Joker held her like he could protect them both from the things she’d said. The cold armor that had kept her steady and professional in front of the others melted. She breathed in his scent, cherishing the rare opportunity to be held, and could almost pretend that was enough. He was warm and solid and far more real than than the nebulous threat of reaper mind control. When he ran out of words and his whispered promises turned to hot kisses, she let passion sweep her away.

But only for a moment.

“Pretending it’s not a possibility won’t do any good,” she whispered against his cheek. “I owe everyone to be aware of it. The crew. _You_.”

He leaned away so he could look in her eyes and shook his head, silently denying the possibility.

She fought down the urge to yell. _Denial doesn’t get us anywhere!_ They were talking about _her_ brain, and she had to be the rational one, and she wanted to scream — but no. Instead she took a calming breath and said “You know how often I’ve been near reapers.”

Joker set his jaw. “Yeah. And they haven’t changed you yet.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he kept going, face still a picture of stubbornness. His hands moved from around her waist to grip her upper arms.

“What if you can’t be?” he asked. “What if that first Prothean beacon, kind of, like, inoculated you?”

She stared at him for a moment, imagining what a relief that would be, then shook her head. “Saren used that beacon, and he was sure as hell indoctrinated.”

“Yeah, but, y’know, _before_. A vaccine doesn’t work if you’re already sick.”

“It’d be nice, I suppose.” The pretty picture dissolved into cold reality, and she snorted. “Too bad there’s no reason to believe it. It’d be nice if the Protheans had left us something that fucking _useful_.”

“What about the crucible?”

He asked it carefully, watching for a reaction. Joker was far too perceptive, sometimes.

“I wish I had the faith in it that everyone else seems to.”

He waited for more, and she let her doubts spill out, pulling away from his now-gentle grip to pace the small space.

“I don’t like pouring all our resources into a black box,” she explained. “We don’t have a clue what it’s supposed to do. A ‘weapon’. How vague can you get? And how much of that is wishful thinking? How can you build a strategy around it without knowing what the hell it does? And that’s assuming the damn thing works. It obviously didn’t work before, or there’d still be protheans around to brag about it.”

She pulled herself up short, breathless with the relief of letting her bottled doubts out, and looked at Joker. “Hope I didn’t just burst your ray of hope.”

Joker shook his head slowly. He leaned back against the wall again, thinking.

“I want it to work,” he said, finally. “I want it to be a magic ray gun that makes them all explode into fireworks and confetti. But I have a lot more _faith_ in good ships and well-flown formations and slugs of metal at relativistic speeds.” He grimaced. “I wish we’d killed the one we wounded. I want to take one of them down. I know it would’ve been stupid,” he added quickly. “We couldn’t risk that reckless shit. But it would feel…”

“I know,” she said. “We’ve sent personnel to the crucible, been chased by reapers, and solved what was basically a medical problem. We’ve been through fire, and I feel like we haven’t even started fighting the damn war yet.”

“Yeah, all you’ve done is make a treaty that’s been undreamt of for fourteen hundred years. Baby steps, sweetheart.” Joker might downplay others’ contributions, but not hers. He pushed off the wall and joined her again, catching her hand. “Shit, I want to fight them. I want to have killed the one I hit in the Vetus system. I want to see their numbers go down, preferably to our Thanix. But…” he raised his free hand to her face, cupping her cheek, and smiled. “Normandy is a stealth recon vessel, and as impressive as you are — which is damn impressive — your _particular_ skill set doesn’t lend itself to direct confrontation with a 500 meter long metal space squid. By which I mean, as _amazing_ as your normal methods on the battlefield are,” he emphasized _amazing_ with a low, breathy voice and a brush of lips over hers, “I kinda doubt you’re going to be able to take down a reaper by _hitting it with your head._ ”

The change in tone was so abrupt she laughed despite herself, and he added, “Though you do frequently surprise me.”

“I don’t use my head and you know it!”

“Oh, don’t I.” He rolled his eyes in comic disgust, and she realized what she’d said just a bit too late.

“Damn it, Joker.” She was _really_ laughing, now, the tension in her belly uncoiling into humor. Fuck, she’d needed this.

He grinned. “Sorry, babe. You _charged_ right into that one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

He stepped closer and she folded her arms around him.

This time it was comfortable, the ever-present threats a little farther away. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she held him close.

“Joker?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me something that doesn’t have to do with reapers and extinct alien super races and the threat of galactic doom.”

He chuckled, and thought a moment. “Okay. Y’know Traynor has a thing for Ness?”

Rhi smiled. “Yeah. It’s adorable.”

“Well, apparently she’s been dropping all these subtle hints to the flight crew, trying to figure out where on a ship is ‘private.’” Rhi couldn’t see his grin, but she could feel it against her cheek. “And it’s so funny when she gets flustered about it that people keep pretending they don’t get what she’s asking.”

“That’s just mean.” She said it through a giggle, though. _Poor Samantha_. _Poor Ness_.

“I don’t think the term ‘blue balled’ really applies, under the circumstances,” he muttered into her shoulder. She poked him in reproof, and he added “Or cock-blocked, now I think of it. Ha! What _do_ lesbians get?”

“As fucking frustrated as anyone else, I assume.” She _tsked_. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken pity on her, after all the crap EDI pulled with us.”

“Empathy gets in the way of my bitter humor.”

She snorted. “Fuck, if no one caves in the next coupla days, _I’_ ll tell her. Can’t have my comm officer…  distracted.”

“Yeaaah,” he said dryly, “That’ll be a really comfortable conversation for her. ‘Specialist, get laid.’ ‘Aye aye, ma’am.’ Very professional. Always nice to know the brass are taking a personal interest.”

“ _You_ never seem to mind personal interest.”

“Only from this one particular commander,” he murmured. “I don’t make a habit of it.” He emphasized ‘one particular’ by grabbing her butt. “Okay. Now my turn. Give me some good news.”

She returned the squeeze. “Alenko’s out of the hospital. No implant damage.”

“Thank god.” Joker sighed with relief.

“And apparently Udina got him made Spectre.”

Joker raised his head from her shoulder in surprise, though she noticed he didn’t drop his hand from her ass. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Serious.”

“Wow. Poor bastard. What’d he do to deserve that?”

She chuckled. “Nice to know what you think of the honor.”

“Hey, it’s brought you _loads_ of fun. Speaking of which, I hope you call him ‘number 2’ forever, now.”

“I’m sure he’ll have enough burdens to bear without me adding to them, Joker.”

—————

Kaidan Alenko’s first act as Spectre had been to put in a request with the remnant of Alliance Intel working on the Citadel for the vid footage he’d mentioned to Bau. His new status paid off in a personal call from their top analyst, a woman who’d been whisked off Earth during the initial attack and put in charge of their remaining operation.

“Analyst Mason, Spectre,” she introduced herself. “Unfortunately, we only have a few small clips from that record available to us; the full data was lost in the initial attack, so far as I know. I can send you what we have, but you may want to contact Commander Shepard. The initial information came from her, you know.”

Kaidan had raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t just pull it off the Normandy?”

“Oh, no, we’d had it for months before the military end seized the ship.” She shook her head ruefully. “I almost wish she hadn’t given Cerberus the finger when she did; she kept us better informed than we’d ever managed to be, before. Still not enough, mind you — we can _never_ know enough, every analyst’s motto — but every time she passed us something the boys down in Counter Terrorism acted like Christmas had come early. Had to do a very thorough check on the first few of course, since we’d assumed she was dead, but everything checked out.” The analyst chuckled. “If you speak to her — as a fellow Spectre and all — give her my best. From a desk jockey she’s never heard of, over in the intelligence arm. Some of that intel saved lives.”

“Uh, should you be telling me all this?”

“Your security classification rather went through the roof when you were made Spectre. Didn’t you know? Besides,” the analyst grinned, “The only reason to keep it hush hush is to protect the informant, and everyone in Cerberus is trying to kill Shepard now anyway."

Kaidan had thanked her and signed off. He’d had to take a minute before he wrote the request to Shepard; a moment to think. A moment to watch the universe rearrange itself in a tiny way.

He felt like an immense weight had been lifted from him: the weight that had settled on his heart when he’d seen Shepard on Horizon, alive and in the uniform of an enemy. It had shadowed his every choice, and now… he gripped the edge of the desk as if he might float away.

It had taken him most of the last year to realize that his immense feeling of betrayal hadn’t been aimed at Shepard, but at himself.

Kaidan had liked Shepard. He’d liked her, admired her, enough to do the idiot thing and actually tell her so, fraternization regs be damned. Even more than that, though, he’d believed in her, like he hadn’t believed in a leader since Vyrnnus shattered his child’s faith in authority. He could never explain why — why he’d believed in her even when she shot a man in cold blood in a Citadel bar not two meters in front of him, or invited a krogan mercenary onto a military ship, or when she’d seized the Normandy against orders and they’d fled hell for leather for Ilos — but he had.

Thinking she had gone over to Cerberus had shattered his faith in his own judgement.

That was why he hadn’t been convinced, even after Joker had told him in no uncertain terms that Shepard was still Shepard, that she loathed Cerberus, and the situation she was in wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Joker. The guy was an asshole on occasion and he wouldn’t let anyone catch him being sincere if he could help it, but they’d been friends, good friends, for a long time. But Kaidan had _wanted_ him to be right so strongly that he didn’t quite trust himself. And Joker, well, he’d had as much cause for motivated reasoning as Kaidan, if not more. He’d been wrecked by the loss of the SR1 and Shepard’s death. It had been hard for all of them, but it had hit him the worst.

So Kaidan had kept poking at the edges, looking for flaws, unwilling to trust himself. He couldn’t make the same mistake again.

And now it seemed maybe he’d never made a mistake at all.

Under other circumstances, it would have been enough to send him over the moon, and for a brief while after his discussion with Mason things did look a little better. Unfortunately, the confirmation that Shepard had been feeding the Alliance intel the whole time she worked for Cerberus was the only reassuring thing he learned for days.

He hadn’t managed to speak with Shepard — he assumed she’d had her hands full with the krogan — but she’d sent the vid footage he wanted within a few hours of his request. There was more than he remembered; hours more vid off the security cams, as well as a doctor’s records on the declining crew.

He’d watched it through, all of it, three times. The repetition didn’t make it any less unsettling.

The glimpses of the inside of the reaper — odd corners seen on the edge of security cam pick-ups, nothing that really gave you a good idea of the over-all place — were unnerving. The Cerberus personnel had built scaffolding and platforms so they could work inside a ship that was nothing like a ship, and hadn’t been designed for bipedal passengers. And then there were sections that had been so designed, with flat floors and even railings, and that was worse than the other.

 _Used for transporting their shock troops, maybe. Reaperized husks penned in like cattle_.

Against the vast shadows of the reaper interior, the Cerberus personnel had shown up like beacons in their crisp white uniforms. If he’d expected terrorist conspiracies in their security vids, he didn’t get any. These people were researchers, and they acted like researchers… at first. They documented what they saw, aloud and in great detail. He saw people taking written records and affixing labels to every bit they pulled off the superstructure. It was all very normal, up until it very subtly wasn’t. The team started to become irritable, picking fights and complaining of lack of sleep. It looked a hell of a lot like normal stress, right up until the last day or so, when things got weirder — a man remembering his coworker’s life as his own. A woman babbling in tongues.

And judging from the vid date stamps and Shepard’s notes, very shortly after _that_ they’d all walked away from their jobs and impaled themselves on spikes.

Kaidan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, easing the headache starting there. Hell, _headaches_ were a sign of indoctrination, as far as anyone could tell. He already _got_ headaches. _Migraines. Heh. The Reapers of headaches._ Having lights around you turn into screaming tracers felt a hell of a lot like some evil force taking over your skull as it was.

 _Trying to guess will drive me nuts. It will drive_ all _of us nuts. Have to stick to facts, such as they are_.

For indoctrination to occur, victims had to be near a reaper or reaper-created object. ‘Near’ was unfortunately vague, but up until a week ago reaper objects had been a rarity in the galaxy. A good place to start narrowing things down. If he prioritized information on people or organizations that were suspected to have dealt in black market Reaper artifacts, like say the detritus from Sovereign...

He called Mason back and begged her for an info-tracker VI after he realized just how big the job in front of him was. ‘Teaching’ the software what he wanted it to look for took the better part of a day. Like any software, the better data you put in, the better data you got out. You couldn’t rely on a virtual intelligence having a stroke of insight. By the time he was done he felt absurdly close to the thing, and his head was aching from screentime, which was at least a bit better than paranoia-induced stress.

His new auth codes opened the council archives to his customized digital friend. ‘Archives’ was a polite word — there was a genuine archive section, full of important and organized information, but the council also had duplicates of every record CSec had ever made, Spectre reports going back centuries, and a lot more besides.

He pictured the VI zipping off along cables, like a retriever after a bird. Even with the date parameters he’d set on it, it would take awhile for the VI to turn up anything useful in the vast databanks.

 _And then I’ll have some actual leads_. He stood up from the chair, stretching after too long bent to his work. In the mean-time, he could check in with Udina.

—————

Udina was in the office and in a mood, and he seized on Kaidan as a sympathetic ear.

Kaidan took up a patient parade rest and let Udina’s wrath wash over him. If the counselor needed to vent, well, Kaidan could listen. Ten minutes of his time wouldn’t make a difference one way or another to the war.

Udina paced and gestured, animated with frustration.

“Damn Shepard! The asari were useless before; they’re actively getting in the way now. Claiming to be concerned about this whole krogan business. If you ask me, they’re just embarrassed. The most esteemed mediators of the galaxy turned down a diplomatic conference for fear of failure, and they’re shown up by a, a, a human marine with an attitude problem!”

That wasn’t how Kaidan’d have described Shepard, but from Udina’s point of view… _yeah, maybe_. She’d never bothered to hide her dislike for the counselor.

Udina chuckled darkly. “If I wasn’t so furious with her, I’d applaud Shepard, just for that. Never seen Tevos so set on her ass. She couldn’t’ve been more shocked if she’d been slapped by a hanar.”

“Shepard did do pretty well,” Kaidan pointed out mildly, hoping to ease Udina down.

“Pretty well? _Pretty well_? I don’t care if she accomplished the impossible — she got us _nowhere_. I suppose I should be glad she didn’t start another damn war! The salarian government went from cool to icy, when I was _this_ close to having their support. The asari are almost as bad. Thanks to _Shepard_. An up-jumped slum rat who apparently came back to life entirely to cause interspecies incidents!”

Kaidan had doubted Shepard was herself, this past year, but insulting her based on her background was just _low_.

Udina must have noticed Kaidan’s reaction, because he stopped his frantic pacing and seemed to pay attention to who he was talking to for the first time. He took on a placating tone, the wise advisor explaining things to the ignorant subordinate.

“She was _not_ my recommendation for Spectre, and you have no idea of the political upheaval her… _directness_ … caused in that debacle with Saren. Thanks to her I’ve spent the last six months trying to prevent a war with the batarians, rather than preparing for the war that was coming.”

Udina fell briefly silent as Eva Coré slipped by him and set a stack of data pads precisely on his desk. Kaidan hadn’t even heard her enter the room; she moved like a cat. _Or whatever’s sneakier than a cat_. He’d had a cat as a kid, and the noise he associated with cats was ‘shattering china’ (his mother had _not_ been pleased).

Coré left as soundlessly as she’d come in, but her silent interruption seemed to have robbed Udina of his adrenaline. He almost collapsed at his desk, where he rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “But I can’t fault Shepard for _trying_. Forgive me, Major. You didn’t deserve to be the brunt of that.”

Kaidan acknowledged that with a slight nod, and Udina started talking again before he could reply.

“I am aware that Shepard has had to make some… difficult decisions, in her career. She’s sacrificed a great deal for the Alliance — as have all of you serving in uniform. But what you must understand is, diplomats and politicians make hard calls too. Calls every bit as grave as those encountered on the battlefield. We are skilled in our own arena. What she’s attempting to do now… it isn’t what she was trained for. And it shows.”

This time, Udina waited for a prompt. Kaidan was too polite not to provide it. “How so, sir?”

“Once she had the krogan female, she had both parties over a barrel. She could have asked for help for Earth and gotten it. Instead, what did she get us? An army of krogan, yes — but heading to _Palaven_. She’s got some vision for everyone working together — which is a lovely ideal — but what about _time_? ” Udina growled. “I’m starting to understand those Earth First idiots. Not their tedious anti-alien rhetoric. Xenophobia has always been the refuge of weak minds. Vile. But it is difficult to keep hearing ‘later’ when you know there may not be one. We need to look out for ourselves _now_.”

When Udina looked up, there were tears in the corners of his eyes. “I had Eva run the numbers. If Shepard had re-negotiated at that point, if Hackett hadn’t sent her to Elysium… there could have been krogan on the ground in the cities of Earth yesterday.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “1.2 _million_ people on Earth died yesterday.”

Kaidan kept his eyes forward, giving Udina the privacy of his inattention while the Councilor got himself together.

And while he tried to swallow the number himself.

Udina was wrong. There’d never been a chance of krogan support reaching Earth so soon, even if Shepard had been firmer with the turians. Kaidan had never worked in logistics himself, but he knew moving a force that large across that many systems was complicated. Coordinating two or three previously separate forces and having any hope of a concerted attack at the destination would take time.

Udina was definitely wrong about the specific day, but not the cost of delay.

Whether he was right about best course of action… how the hell could anyone know?

Kaidan desperately wanted to be retaking Earth. At least _trying_ would be something. He remembered Vancouver, already wrecked and burning less than an hour after the initial attack. His home. Did anything remain of it now? It was hard to believe there was anything left to save.

Would they have a better chance if they threw everything at it now, or if they waited for krogan aid? Would the turian forces Shepard had just bought them do more than the krogan would have? Would any of them, turians or krogan, be left alive when they _finally_ turned to help Earth?

The only thing Kaidan was sure of was that Udina couldn’t shout at politicians any harder than Shepard could. _If they could be cowed, she would have done it_.

On the other hand… he wasn’t quite sure she had the same sense of attachment to her home planet. She certainly didn’t have any love for their mutual home city.

 _Maybe_ we _shouldn’t have it. Maybe trying to retake homeworlds is spitting in the wind, and we need another strategy_. He didn’t know what that would look like, though. It _felt_ a lot like giving up.

Udina started talking again, still speaking more to his desk than to Kaidan. “I’ve tried and tried, but this is all we’ve got. If that’s how the other species want to play it, I’ll be looking out for my own. Humanity.” He looked up and met Kaidan’s eyes. “You can count on that, Spectre.”

Kaidan nodded somberly, and left the office.

—————

Kaidan got dinner in the ACHQ mess, glad for once to have the hubbub of a crowd around him, even if he’d never appreciate cafeteria lighting. The interlude with Udina following on hours alone with only videos of indoctrination for company had made him hungry for the sound of normal people.

A ping on his omni-tool alerted him to an incoming message. The address was Joker’s familiar old personal one. _Normandy must be near a comm buoy_.

Hey, K.

Heard they let you out of the big H horror house. Head still attached? Not feeling flattened? You looked like shit when Shepard hauled you off Mars, not gonna lie. Didn’t your mom ever teach you to look both ways before you crossed in front of traffic? I hear that’s something you dirtkicker kids have to be taught.

Did you get all your kit okay? Things were a bit nuts when we first docked, but I got it all together later and Shepard ran it by Huerta. Said she dropped it in your room. Figured you’d rather I did it than some random private who wouldn’t recognize the good blackmail material when he saw it. Hope I didn’t miss anything.

(…of the things you wanted. I never miss blackmail material).

Last I checked the Big News out of the Citadel was how to decorate your tiny apartment, with a bonus special on meals for interspecies families. Heartwarming. Tell them there’s a war on, would you?

— J

P.S. Condolences on the whole spectre-ification thing!

I meant congrats.

Really.

Kaidan stopped at the second paragraph and read it through again. He hadn’t seen any of his own things since he’d woken up. Granted, he hadn’t had much on him to begin with — just his flight bag, and the armor that had probably been cut off him in the med bay. He’d give his left hand to have his own omnitool back, though. The standard issue ‘tool he’d checked out from the ACHQ quartermaster was a big step down. As if to remind him of that, the message from Joker flickered, replaced with a brief ‘waiting’ symbol, and then came back. _Temperamental piece of garbage_. And he’d asked at the hospital, too, and they said no one had left anything for him! _It’s probably stashed in a utility cupboard somewhere_. Huerta had been understaffed for the flood of injured when he arrived, and it had only gotten worse. Finding his lost belongings was probably not on the hospital’s priority list.

That wrinkle aside, the message was pure Joker: teasing so constant it’d be easy to forget that he’d cared enough to bother with a message at all.Kaidan had a lot of practice translating from Joker into ‘reasonable person’, though. Joker had been worried about him, was genuinely glad he was okay, and wanted to commiserate with another sane man about the vast powers of human denial — which, now he thought about it, had been the subject of at least one long-winded discussion they’d had over drinks, years ago.

It was nice to know he hadn’t been forgotten by all his friends out there in the big universe.

 _And that some of them are still alive_.

He bottled up his concern for his other friends and, worse, his family, most of whom were still back on Earth. He tried, anyway. Sometimes he wished he was better at compartmentalizing. The fears always escaped to worry at him.

 _Which means it’s time to get back to work_. Distraction did what his conscious mind couldn’t.

Walking through the quiet embassy reminded him of Udina’s near breakdown. He felt an unexpected sympathy for the man. Udina could be a bit of a jerk, but damn it, he obviously _cared_. It was hard to be disgusted with him when he was clearly tearing himself apart.

Back in his office, the terminal was blinking with alerts from the VI.

Even with the VI doing the grunt work, it still took time to sort through the connections it had found. Scavengers selling bits of Sovereign hadn’t received nearly the CSec attention Kaidan had hoped for. Why would they? A year ago the Council had still been calling Sovereign a geth ship. Once they’d had the weaponry to peruse, the rest had just been junk. But one such smuggling ring had been broken, and broken fairly recently, and looking into that turned up some interesting connections.

_Jonathan Arbuth, initially denied Citadel Residency on account of unresolved theft charges on Bekenstein, visa later granted by councilor’s fiat (C. Donnel Udina)._

Kaidan blinked at the screen in consternation. He couldn’t imagine many people got their residency applications fast-tracked by a councilor, or why Udina would have extended himself for a maybe-crook.

 _Maybe he just made a mistake_. Arbuth’s approval may have been just one of many, an act of generosity that turned out to be a poor decision. Having so recently doubted his own judgement, Kaidan wasn’t exactly in a mood to throw stones. Granted, his doubt had been unfounded, but it might not have been, and it would take more than twentyfour hours to undo the unease of an entire year. It was easy for him to sympathize.

_Who knows how many of these things the Councilors shove through, anyway?_

“Scout,” he said to the VI, “Show me every Citadel residency application personally approved or fast-tracked by Donnel Udina — no, by every councilor. Different color for each councilor, make date the x-axis, start… four years ago.” That’d give him a baseline from when Earth hadn’t had a spot on the council, and Udina had only been a lowly ambassador.

The VI delivered in a matter of seconds — it was easily available information — and gave him a very _interesting_ graph.

“Good boy, Scout,” Kaidan muttered.

Udina had actually thrown his weight around the visa department _less_ than any other councilor except the turian Sparatus, through his stint as ambassador up until about two months after he’d replaced Anderson as Councilor. _Anderson_ had even been freer with the favors. Then… Kaidan wracked his brain for what had been happening around the time of the change-over. The relay in batarian space hadn’t yet been destroyed; Shepard and the Normandy had broken with Cerberus and were acting as free agents; Anderson had returned to military service, presumably because of the Alliance’s growing worries about the possibility of a reaper invasion. Udina had taken his place.

Two months later, he’d started granting a surprising number of expedited residency permits.

“What happened six months ago?” Kaidan wondered aloud.

The ‘working’ symbol on the corner of the screen started whirling frenetically, and the VI started spewing a list faster than Kaidan could track. _Alpha relay destroyed Matriarch T’loni dies of heart attack varren kennel cough outbreak Tuchankan clan warfare continues Palaven Steel wins intersystem championships_ —

“Pause, Scout!” Kaidan tapped the desk, thinking of how to frame his rhetorical question as something the VI might actually be able to answer.

“Uh… please list staffing changes and known personal contacts and associations of Councilor Donnel Udina, from —” he gave a date range bracketing the change.

Kaidan tapped through a list of names. All of them were easily explicable: diplomatic contacts, members of the Alliance civil government, a bewildering number of charities, direct contact with a few Terran heads of state. No connections that were unusual for a diplomat.

The only significant _change_ was hiring Eva Coré as his personal assistant.

The increase in visas started not two weeks later. Within three months Udina was pushing more people onto the station than the other three counselors combined. _And he still is_ , Kaidan noted. All normal changes of residency were halted due to the war, with supplicants left among the refugees, but Udina was getting people — humans, all of them — onto the station faster than ever.

 _Where do these people go?_ “List professions of the approved immigrants.” Surely they weren’t _all_ criminals.

In fact, Jonathan Arbuth was the only person who’d been charged with a crime. The rest worked in a variety of professions. Financial services, trade, a fair few in the embassy…

...but the majority, by far, had entered CSec.

 _Does Commander Bailey know about this?_ Maybe Bailey had requested it, a bit of a favor to help with his staffing. Kaidan wasn’t familiar with the man, but it was a possibility.

And an easy one to check. “Separate this subset of CSec officers by division and commander, Scout.”

 _Well, hell_. Not only were most of the fast-tracked officers not working under Bailey, they weren’t even working under human officers. _And filling CSec with humans wouldn’t explain the rest of the approvals. Damn it. Why else might Udina start using his power like that? Money?_ Had the councilor just discovered an avenue for some personal profit? The Council Archives didn’t contain personal financial records unless they’d been the subject of an investigation, but what might he turn up if he was able to get information out of the banks? Or Barla Von? Von’s speciality was moving credits without a trace. He’d shared information with Shepard years ago, but only because he’d had a personal stake in it. Getting any information on his clients now… well, it would take a more sophisticated VI than Scout to hack through _those_ systems.

_What the hell is Udina playing at?_

Another, more uncomfortable thought: _Should I care?_

He _did_ care, of course. The possibility that Earth's prime representative on the galactic stage might be doing something underhanded galled him to the bone. Udina represented billions of people — which included billions of _good_ people, statistically — and this was an affront to them.

But he didn’t know if it was relevant in the middle of galactic war. Or if exposing it might make things even worse. _Or what, exactly, I’d be exposing_.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be indoctrination. Udina was so dedicated to saving humanity from the reapers it was driving him to tears, and anyway, there was no reason to believe he’d had any contact with reaper anything. _Unless Arbuth sent him a bit of Sovereign as a present…_ but no, Udina had signed Arbuth’s papers less than two months ago, well after he’d began his flood of approvals.

Kaidan was sure he’d discovered _something_ , but what exactly had he discovered? And what would be the consequences of sharing it?

 _We already lost most of our leadership when we lost Arcturus_. The military had followed procedure and moved on down the ranks, leaving the entirety of the Navy to admiral Hackett and shuffling lesser responsibilities down the line as soon as they knew who was still alive, but civilian lines of succession weren't so clear. Who would speak for them if Udina was deposed?

Kaidan stared at the screen and remembered all the times he'd heard Shepard mutter that a decision was above her pay grade.

 _I don't think there's a pay grade high enough_.


	15. Power Struggles

Kaidan was an early riser by both training and inclination, but his healing body had other plans. Despite thinking he’d never manage to nod off with the problem of Udina running through his mind, he slept hard and woke late. No brilliant new plan had occurred to him overnight; just the same old one, and the sick feeling in his stomach that went with it.

He considered his dress blues, then set them aside. He couldn’t wear the Alliance’s proudest uniform for what he was going to do. 

He sipped crappy instant coffee as he walked to his office, writing his script in his head. _Councilor Udina, I uncovered a surprising number of visas you granted… granted by your office… you seem to have granted…_

_ No.  _

_ Dear Mr. Udina, you may be crooked as a corkscrew doing yoga, but if I blow the whistle on you a couple billion people might die while we’re all looking the other way, and they’re more important than you are. _

That had the benefit of being _true_ , at least. Why didn’t he think it’d work if he put it like that?

_ I’m giving you a chance, and I shouldn’t.  _ Take _it, damn it_.

_ Councilor. If I bring this to the attention of either our government or the Council I’m afraid you’ll have a scandal that the rest of us can’t afford. I’m sure we both know that none of this can be as important as the war. Clear it up now, before someone who doesn’t understand that finds it. _

It sounded slimy, even in his head. Damn Udina. Whatever the hell he was doing, he’d pulled Kaidan into it, into a political mess he wasn’t prepared for, where his only decisions were bad ones, and other people’s lack of ethics coated _him_ in scum.

Kaidan stopped in his tracks, forgotten coffee almost sloshing out of his mug. Good god. Was this was _Shepard_ felt like, struggling with Cerberus?

_ I might owe her an apology. And a beer _ . 

Commiserating over a pint sounded perfect. Probably because it implied all the crap was in the past, instead of in his very immediate future. 

He was going over his mental script one more time, delaying the inevitable, when his omnitool lit up in warning signals, his terminal flashed an alert, and his comm buzzed in his earpiece, all at once. He dropped into his seat, scanning the message even as he keyed open the comm channel. _Priority One. Maximal alert._ A shiver ran down his spine, adrenaline that did more than the crappy instant coffee had. _Reapers?_

He swallowed to wet his suddenly-dry mouth. “Alenko here.”

“Spectre Alenko,” It was Jondam Bau, his speech even faster than usual. “Councilors may be in danger. CSec offices 3, 6, and 17 out of contact. Protect your councilor. Update later.”

Kaidan leapt out of his seat. _We’re under attack_. Udina might have been selling favors, but he was still the human representative on the galactic council. He’d thought it would be bad if their councilor was caught in a scandal; how much worse would it be if he was _killed_?

“Headed to Udina’s office now,” Kaidan said, and Bau closed the connection. Kaidan scooped up gear as he went: shield pack, armored vest, weapons. He paused before the door just long enough to shrug into the vest and seat the shield on his belt. 

Time was vital, but so was not being an idiot.

In the hallway, he grabbed the nearest person in uniform. “Initiate embassy lock down, Spectre authority.” The woman’s eyes went wide, but she nodded. He heard her passing his message on to her superiors as he moved on towards the Councilor’s office, moving at a brisk jog.

He didn’t want to panic anyone by flat-out _running_.

_ CSec 3, 6, and 17 _ . He tried to place the offices in his rough mental map of the Citadel. Not the offices closest to the human embassy. _But those on either side_. 

Kaidan picked up his pace and reached Udina’s door just as news of the lockdown did; Udina was up out of his seat demanding answers from him the moment he arrived.

“I was just told the embassy’s in lockdown!” He scowled at Kaidan, as if the security measure was a personal affront. “What’s going on?”

“I initiated the security protocol, Councilor. CSec has lost contact with some of their presidium stations.” The numbers of the black offices tugged at him, and he wasn’t sure _why_. “We don’t know the situation yet. Better safe than sorry.”

Udina acknowledged that with a sharp nod and started pacing.

“Please get away from the windows, Councilor.” Had the embassy never practiced their security drills, or did Udina consider himself above them? “Stand there, please, where you won’t offer a target.”

Udina complied, though Kaidan could’ve wished for a bit more alacrity. Eva Coré joined him in the corner. She was quiet as always, her face betraying neither fear nor irritation. It was a welcome counterpoint to Udina.

Kaidan’s ‘tool blinked in the code for a mass call on the Spectre-restricted channel. He accepted it, hoping it signaled a situation under control. Though then he’d have to follow through with confronting Udina…

“All Spectres,” Bau’s voice was cold. “Counselor Valern is dead.”

Kaidan froze. The channel filled with demands for information, flooding Kaidan’s earpiece with noise. He waited it out, holding up his hand to stop Udina from interrupting him, and listened intently for _answers_.

Assassin, he heard. Physical blades. Probable cloaking technology. More importantly, Valern had been killed within the last twenty minutes. His killer was still on the Citadel — probably still on the Presidium. 

And he was either a _very_ good hacker, or had inside access.

“Stop staring at the wall, man, and give us some answers!” Udina interrupted Kaidan’s thoughts, almost drowning out the extra data he’d been receiving via his earpiece. Kaidan turned his attention back on his charges. How should he share this news? What had Valern been to Udina, besides someone he worked with every day? A friend? An enemy? No time for careful scripts now.

“Councilor… I’m sorry. That was one of the Salarian Spectres. Your colleague Valern has been killed.”

Udina’s expression passed through a storm of emotions, shock and confusion and fear and outrage, before settling on denial.

“Councilor Valern — dead? What — no! This — this can’t be happening.” Udina looked back and forth between Kaidan and Ms. Coré, who had taken the shocking news in silence, as if they could make it come untrue. 

“I am sure the Spectre would not report Valern dead if he was not sure, Councilor,” Coré said, placing a hand on his arm. Her forehead wrinkled when she frowned.

“But what — why?!” 

Coré shrugged, as helpless to provide answers as Kaidan. 

“We have to assume you’re in grave danger as well,” Kaidan pointed out. “Get down — behind the desk.” 

Udina obeyed, moving to obey far faster than he had before. His motions were quick and agitated. Twitchy. Coré followed him, almost in a bodyguard's place. Kaidan wondered if she’d had any defensive training, and wished he’d had time to look into things like that.

Kaidan took a guard position by the door. 

_ Who is attacking, and how many? _ Kaidan had too many questions, but those were paramount. He couldn’t hope to defend the Councilor if he didn’t have some idea of the threat.   _It’s not a space-based attack_ , he mused. _Infiltration, more like. Individual targets_. It didn’t seem like the Reapers’ MO — everything he’d seen in Vancouver and been briefed on since showed they favored a more brute-force approach. Which left… who? Whoever it was, they had enough force to take several C-Sec stations offline and breach the security of a Councilor, but here in the ‘safety’ of the Citadel, how much security did the Councilors bother with? Not as much as he would’ve suggested, certainly.

He cursed his good security practices. In his office he’d had a link to the surveillance equipment he’d been using in his indoctrination wild-goose chase, but he’d shut down the link to his omnitool before he’d left, figuring his ‘tool was too easy to compromise. 

He tried to raise C-sec, _any_ C-sec, but got only shouts, and then static. 

“We have to get out!” Udina was shouting, too, another addition to the useless noise. He sounded near panic. 

“Not without knowing what’s going on,” Kaidan said. He kept his voice calm and reasonable, a counter-measure to the counselor’s anxiety.

“You don’t understand,” Udina snapped, “Put it together! This attack, Valern — the council is in danger!”

_ I’d gotten that far _ . _I fact, I just_ told _you that_. Kaidan kept the catty response behind an impassive face. The mayhem hadn’t touched them yet. There was still time to be rational. “Running blindly into a fight will just make you an easier target. We’ve got layers of defense before the public areas of the Presidium here, good people between us and any threat, and I know the layout. Please have a little faith, Councilor.”

“I don’t need faith, I’ve got a ship waiting!” Udina leapt up from behind the desk in emphasis, and Eva just as quickly pulled him back down again. “And I of course have faith in your ability to get us there, ah, unmolested,” he amended.

“A ship? Why? Where?” Kaidan asked. 

“Emergencies,” Udina snapped. “We are in a _war_ , Major! Something _I_ recognize, even if my _colleagues_ don’t! I made provision.”

“There’s nothing in at the Alliance dock at the moment —”

“Not an Alliance ship,” Udina snapped. “Do you think I’d commandeer something that could be used for the war effort? A private vessel. Docked in the Wards. Zakera, near the Presidium access — I arranged it just in case of emergencies like this. We have to find the other councilors and get them safely to the docks.”

Getting two non-combatants from the embassies to the Zakera docks unharmed, through a totally unknown tactical landscape, seemed like madness — and that was without trying to locate the other two surviving counselors. On the other hand, Citadel security seemed functionally non-existent just now. It had certainly posed no trouble to whoever had killed Valern. _Digging in only works if you’re sure you can’t be picked off._ Kaidan glanced at the expanse of picture window opening onto the presidium park. Udina’s near-panic didn’t encourage trust, but his idea might just be sound. The idea of the councilors standing off in a small, mobile ship, rather than being sitting ducks on the space station, was certainly appealing. 

Kaidan thought it over a moment and nodded. “With the embassy guard — we might manage it.”

“ _With_ the other Councilors,” Udina said again. “Tevos, Sparatus — I won’t leave them here.”

“Hold on.” Kaidan tried Bau again, and this time got his attention. “Councilor Udina says he has a ship, docked in Zakera. He suggests getting the councilors off the station until we can figure out what’s going on.”

“Risky. But… yes.” Bau’s quick acquiescence told Kaidan the situation was very bad indeed. “Valern… tragedy. Unacceptable. _Cannot_ fail again. Will organize guards, mobility. Danger apparently centered in Presidium; move VIPs separately, rendezvous at wards. You have enough personnel?”

“The embassy guard…” Kaidan trailed off. He didn’t know how many people that was, _damn_ it, and how many of those were tasked with protecting the councilor rather than the building and those within it.

“Three people,” Coré helpfully supplied. “Two are required to stay with the councilor in emergencies; one is free for needs as they arise.”

Kaidan nodded his thanks to her. “We’re good,” he told Bau. “Watch your back.”

“You too.”

Kaidan checked the weapon and shield pack at his hip, then slipped out the door to check with the embassy guards. Two of them were waiting in the anteroom, as Coré had said. He set one of them to organizing her fellows for the evac and slipped back into the office. Both Coré and Udina started for the door as soon as he entered, but he waved them back to the relative safety of the big desk. “Not just yet.”

“What are you doing?” Udina asked. “We need to leave!”

“QEC,” Kaidan said, crossing the room to the terminal. “We can get a warning out to Alliance ships, if they haven’t gotten it already.” He didn’t bother with a vid connection; text was quicker. _Hostiles on Citad_  — 

“There’s no time!” Coré said, grabbing his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. 

He almost shook her off, but stopped. She must be terrified, under the cool facade. She’d signed up for the plush job of a councilor's assistant, not to be running through what was sounding more and more like an active war zone, and he couldn’t expect her — or Udina — to deal with it well. 

“You can’t broadcast that to every ship we’ve got!” Udina protested. “You’ve no idea of the tactical implications!”

“ _Understood_ , Councilor. I won’t.” Kaidan swallowed his irritation and finished the message one-handed. —  _el. Council in danger._ He told the computer to send it to Normandy, and jabbed SEND just as Coré hauled him away from the console.

She really was strong — far stronger than her slight frame would suggest.

Kaidan hoped she wasn’t going to need that strength in the next half hour.

————

With Primarch Victus returned to the Turian Fleet and Wrex back on Tuchanka, Shepard and the Normandy were out of the center of things for the moment, and Hackett had asked her to check out a possible Cerberus presence out toward Sigurd’s Cradle. 

‘Her’ in name only, this time — she was still stiff and aching from the injury on Tuchanka. Rhi watched her ground team load into the shuttle and hoped Vega wouldn’t give Garrus any trouble. She’d wanted the turian’s steadiness and experience on the ground with her untried corporals, but Vega had no reason beyond her Spectre’s say-so to listen to anyone but a ranking Alliance officer, let alone a technically-civilian alien.

_ Fuck _ . _Never thought I’d miss anything about working with Cerberus_. How many times had she mentally bemoaned her civilian crew and wished for the reliable discipline of military personnel? She’d lived and worked comfortably within rigid rules for a decade. Funny how hard they were to squeeze back into.

She thought of Joker, so close by and yet not in her company or bed nearly often enough. Okay, so she wasn’t so much ‘squeezing back into’ the rules as she was slipping right around them. _Some of them_.

Thinking of which, it was time to get up to the helm.

The copilot’s station, rendered entirely redundant by EDI, didn’t have the visualization arrays that the CIC offered, but it was perfectly adequate to overseeing a small ground mission and a hell of a lot more comfortable. She greeted Joker, then sat down and tried to sort the helmet feeds into some kind of useful order. In the process she lost one of them, and he had to lean over and help her bring it back.

She grabbed his hand as he tried to settle back into his own seat and brushed her lips across his knuckles. “Thanks.”

“Mixing business with pleasure?” he asked. His eyes flicked to the helmet cams as if to remind her of the risks of getting distracted. “I admit, I expected you to do this from the CIC or the war room.”

“I like your company. Besides, I may need help.”

He shot her a ‘stop teasing me’ look.

She shrugged. “You’re better at this than I am. But I can’t tell _them_ that.” She jerked her head backwards, indicating the rest of the ship. “Gotta keep that illusion of competence.”

She didn’t actually have much to watch until the shuttle touched down. The landing was smooth; no force was waiting to resist them. The team didn’t encounter a single sign of life until Vega on point barged into the facility proper.

Watching the firefight that followed was nerve-wracking.

“Rhi,” Joker said. 

“Yeah, what?” She’d almost forgotten he was there, glued as she was to the feeds. Twice she’d wanted to interject, to give warning or direction, but she held herself back. Distraction could get people killed, and they were doing fined — they just weren’t doing it the way _she_ would have. 

“Could you stop rattling your fingers on the chair, maybe?”

She hadn’t realized she was doing it.

Rhi shrugged an apology and returned to her monitoring. The team was spreading out, systematically covering the facility, which must once have been some sort of lab. She leaned forward, wincing as her bruised side complained. There was _something_ just off the corner of Vega’s cam, Corporal Izeko was lagging his team mates, and Westmoreland kept pulling in too tight. 

She reached to open Garrus’s com just as he issued the orders she’d been about to suggest.

“ _Damn_ it,” she muttered.

Joker reached over and grabbed her left hand, taking it out of reach of the controls. He was grinning. “Let me hang on to that, for awhile. It seems to be getting in trouble.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she grumbled.

“Hmph, sure. You’re just like me when I was teaching Hillary to drive. Kept reaching for a brake that wasn’t there. I came _that_ close to taking the wheel. More than once.”

She chuckled, remembering their visit to Tiptree, before the things that had happened on Aratoht had… before Aratoht. Hillary had come back bouncing off the walls; Joker had poured himself a stiff drink and come to join Rhi on the couch like he could hide there.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Totally did. Duty of an older brother.”

“I thought you said that was ‘being a bad influence’?”

“That’s why I had to do it two years before she was legally allowed.”

_ Oh, right.  _ And that was why his stepmom, the girl’s mother, had been so quietly pissed that evening. Rhi grinned. At the time she’d been walking on pins-and-needles, unsure how to act around, well, a _family_  — let alone _his_. Now it seemed positively idyllic. And she’d _liked_ Hillary.

Joker nodded towards the screen displaying the mission cams. “Honestly? Looks like they’re doing just fine down there.”

“They haven’t run into much.” She suspected most of the facility’s staff had evacuated, though ‘fled’ might be a better word — there was nothing orderly about the place, and the handful of Cerberus people Garrus’s team were encountering seemed more like panicked survivors than a rear-guard. She stretched her side judiciously, pulling against the bruises. _I coulda gone on this one after all. It’s a cakewalk_.

“I have faith in ‘em,” she grumbled, “I just want to be _down_ there. I’m fucking useless up here. Nothing to do but sit on my hands and not give in to micro-managing.”

“You could leave it to the rest of us,” he pointed out gently.

“And have someone come find me in my office when things go explosively south? No thanks. If I can’t be in the action I at least want to know what’s —” 

She was interrupted by the shshsh of the cockpit doors. 

Traynor entered, forgetting to salute in her haste. “Commander, a text-only message came through on the QEC. Priority and confidential.” She passed Rhi a slip of hardcopy.

_ Hostiles on Citadl _ , it read. _counvil in dngr. ka_.

“They spelled ‘hostiles’ correctly, but not the rest,” Sam said. “Like they were in a hurry, or interrupted. ‘Counvil’ is ‘counsil’, obviously, but I don’t know ‘ka,’ —”

“Kaidan Alenko,” Rhi said, and crumpled the slip of paper in her hand. This time she did open a channel to Garrus. “Get back up here ASAP, Vakarian, I’m pulling the plug on this one. EDI! We need a course for the Widow Nebula, _now_. Joker? Floor it.” 

————

Kaidan checked that the three embassy guards were properly arrayed around their charges, then crept forward to reconnoiter the next open area they’d have to cross. They’d come this far without actually sighting the enemy, but that only made him nervous. 

They were in a thoroughfare in a shopping district, barely touched by the war. An hour ago it would’ve been full of people; not the ragged throngs of the refugee areas, but the normal commerce of Citadel citizens, shopkeepers and shoppers alike desperately trying to pretend that life was normal.

_ So where are they? _

The invading force — and he had to think of it as an invasion, now — had clearly been through here. Glass windows were broken, a storefront scorched in the characteristic pattern of an incendiary grenade. Now it was quiet, the only sounds the tinkle of glass shards slowly giving way.

Kaidan moved from bench to potted plant to shop entry, watching for any movement, but it seemed the enemy had come and gone. 

“All clear,” Kaidan said on his return. It was uncanny. They’d slipped out through what must have been heavy fighting, but they’d missed all of it. “We’re too damn lucky,” he muttered. 

Core looked at him oddly — perhaps she didn’t see anything lucky about being forced to flee the Citadel. Kaidan just shrugged.

They were almost to the access to Zakera ward before he finally heard the sounds of conflict. Kaidan left the others behind and crept forward. The hard curved walls of the Presidium architecture did funny things with sound, but he thought the gunshot had come from —  _there._ The block of CSec offices flanking the main ward-access elevator bay. 

He slipped back to the Councilor’s side. “There are hostiles between us and our route. Not many, I think.” The single gunshot and the lack of any movement in the windows suggested ‘mopping up’. Kaidan didn’t let himself think of the men and women who’d worked in the office. He turned his attention to Udina’s guard. “I’m going to scout ahead. Wait for my all clear. If you don’t hear from me within ten minutes, head to the next access point over.”

They all nodded, though Udina’s scowl was so black Kaidan was sure he’d raise an objection. Kaidan double checked his gear: the shield pack had been on since before he left the embassy, the pistol in his hand. The amp nestled in the base of his skull he had to take on faith. The doctors had cleared him for biotic practice again — theoretically. No way to test it but try.

He made his way back to his prior vantage point, and realized he was absurdly relieved that he might finally see his enemy. 

“I shall come with you.”

Eva Coré’s voice behind him scared ten years off his life. He _pushed_ reflexively backwards, sending out a wave of force that would have toppled her from her feet if he hadn’t realized and backed off at the last minute.

“Don’t — ” he hissed, and then corrected his tone, “Don’t do that. It’s dangerous. You should be back with the others.” He took a steadying breath. If he’d been a career close-fighter, like Shepard, Coré might be dead right now. 

_ At least I know the biotics still work _ .

“Moving in pairs is sensible,” she replied, “And I am trained in hand-to-hand combat. Also, I can move very quietly.”

“I noticed.” Kaidan bit back further rejoinders. _It’s no more ridiculous than the rest of this._ “Stay behind me by at least two meters, and keep an eye out. If we stop, you should be looking the directions I’m _not_.”

She looked at him flatly. “Of course.”

He felt a brief twinge of guilt. Maybe she really was combat trained, not just a weekend-warrior at some commercial dojo somewhere, but without knowing what she knew, he had to assume the worst or risk missing something obvious. Eva Coré being insulted was the least of his worries. “You really should stay behind.”

“I won’t.” That flat look again. 

Somehow he didn’t think the voice he used on the biotic trainees would cow her. He had to admit defeat. “Okay, then. After me.”

The first floor of the office was deserted. He’d expected corpses, but there were none in the first room he checked, or the second. In the third he found a turian officer collapsed backwards over a chair. His throat had been cut, high under the jaw where the tough skin was most fragile. His body was still warm. 

Kaidan brushed a hand down the turian’s face, closing his eyes, then paused. “Did you hear that?”

Coré, standing in the doorway, shook her head. “I heard nothing.”

“There.” He was sure this time. “There’s someone upstairs.”

Back out into the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and _here_ there were bodies: CSec officers and staff of four species, crumbled in lines. _Executed_. Kaidan felt himself snarl in anger. He didn’t stop to examine these corpses; he could hear the sounds more clearly now. Two men or more, and maybe a radio.

He pulled a barrier up around him, feeling the eezo hum in his nerves, and stalked them as quietly as he could. His omnitool, set to alert his earpiece to nearby surveillance equipment, detected nothing. The clean floors were easy to move softly on, and with only the vest and the little belt shield-pack, he was as unencumbered as he’d ever been on a battlefield. He moved almost silently. 

But somehow, somehow, they _heard_ him.

There was a shout from the far end of the hallway, then the rattle of equipment and the thud of running boots. A second shout, and this time he could make out the order to retreat. 

Kaidan abandoned stealth and ran down the hallway. 

It was a noisy chase. He was a room behind, the far door swinging shut as he entered, and then they were around a corner. Someone shouted “move move MOVE!” as they tried to get their troops to hustle, and he could hear them but he couldn’t see them. The door at the end of another corridor slammed shut just as he came into view. He raced to the door and shoved it back open, out onto a view of a quiet presidium plaza.

Kaidan caught a glimpse of a figure turning the corner on the other end of the open courtyard, then they vanished.

He paused in the open doorway, wanting to follow. He couldn’t let himself be lead off. It was enough to know the enemy was gone from here — and he still didn’t know who the enemy was. The last figure had ducked out of sight too fast for him to see much more than a flash of white and black — and his species.

_ That _ was enough to rattle him to the bone.

“They’re humans,” he whispered. He turned back to Coré, expecting her to share his shock. 

He had an instant to register the bare knife in her hand before she lunged at him.

Kaidan dove to the side, reaching for his sidearm. Coré’s knife tore a gash in the fabric covering of his armored vest as he went by. He came up out of a roll with the pistol readied, but she had followed his movement. She was fast as well as quiet: far faster than she’d let on. She stepped behind him as he came to his feet and clamped her hand on the wrist holding the gun. 

Kaidan threw himself backward, catching her other arm between his body and the wall before she had a chance to use the knife. He jerked his gun hand up across his body, a short, sharp movement that should have freed him from her grip. 

Coré kept her hold without even shifting her balance, impossibly strong for her slight frame. Her hand was like iron. She dug her fingers into his wrist, and he felt his grip start to weaken.

It took the full weight of his body to keep her knife hand pinned against the wall, and she was pulling his dominant hand back as she pinched the nerves, wrenching his recently healed shoulder. He gritted his teeth with the strain. Locked close, he could smell her faint perfume: something light and floral and disconcertingly civilized. 

_ Concentrate _ . Biotics were tricky at close range, but months spent drilling new recruits had honed his skills. He centered himself and gestured with his free hand; a small motion of the fingers, precise and contained. The biotic energy that rippled down his arm was as precise; a narrow, intense field aimed about where Core’s knees had to be, a little slug of pure heavy mass slung low behind his own back. 

Coré pitched sideways, pulling her pinned arm free as she fell. At the last moment she relinquished her death-grip on his wrist, and Kaidan bolted down the hall. 

At the end of the corridor he turned to see Coré on her feet and coming for him. His hand tingled with returning feeling, but his shot was good. Instead of a bright bloom of red, the bullet woke the tell-tale shimmer of a personal shield. 

Coré kept coming. 

Kaidan turned to run. His own shield generator still hummed, a bulky block on his belt that was nigh useless against something as slow as a wielded blade. He’d no idea how she’d managed to hide one under the slim lines of her fashionable office attire, but it was just a shield — enough steady fire would take out even the best shields, if he could buy himself that split second of time. He didn’t have a chance against her at close range. His skills — biotics, hacking, even good old fashioned _aim_  — required a little breathing room. 

He tore through the office, leaping fallen chairs and at least once, a body.

_ Just a little time _ . He grabbed a half-empty coffee mug off a desk as he dashed past. At the next intersection he chucked the mug one way while he ran another. The C-Sec employee who had owned the mug had appreciated old fashioned materials; it made the satisfying tinkly crash of broken ceramic when it landed. 

Kaidan slipped into a darkened office a few steps farther down the hall and ducked behind a desk, fingers flying over his omnitool as he set up an overload charge. It might stun her a moment and buy him a breath; it should at least temporarily take out her shield. He thought he heard her footsteps in the adjoining room; the oldest trick in the book had actually worked. He worked furiously, ears straining for the sound of her approach. 

But Eva Coré moved much more quietly than a cat.

He’d almost got the charge set when he heard a noise behind him: the slightest crunch; a foot falling on broken glass. He whirled. Coré was almost on him, knife in her hand and face eerily still, gaining speed as she closed. 

Kaidan stabbed out desperately with his omnitool. His fist slammed into her torso, and the planned overload charge released straight into her side.

The strength of the shock rocked Kaidan back against the wall, but he pushed himself back before he’d even caught his breath, half-expecting Coré to bounce back up again. She was obviously modified and her shield was state of the art; she might take a stun gun to the chest and keep on fighting.

She wasn’t fighting. She was twitching on the floor. 

Kaidan’s initial relief quickly turned to horrified fascination. He’d seen vids of people tased, in training, and he’d hoped for something like that, but this…

Instead of arcing once and grounding out through her body, the electric charge was _still going_. Blue jagged out over her skin, leaving sharp after-images in his vision. Where the light touched it sent up _sparks_. Her limbs convulsed, over and over. 

Kaidan raised his pistol. He’d prefer to capture her alive, but he didn’t know how to care for this, and it was gruesome. 

He stopped with his finger on the trigger, and sniffed the air. Then he leaned down closer,  still a safe distance from the arcing electricit, and sniffed again.

It smelled like an electrical fire.

A patch on Coré’s exposed collarbone was blackening. As he watched, a whisp of smoke rose from it. 

Kaidan reacted with the instincts of someone who’d served for years on ships and stations; he grabbed the omnipresent fire extinguisher from its brightly labeled rack and he put her out.

By the time she’d stopped smoking she’d also stopped twitching. There was no more uncanny electricity, and, when he knelt to check, no pulse at neck or wrist.

He didn’t have time to figure out what was going on with Ms. Eva Core. The counselors were waiting for him. She wasn’t going to shoot him in the back, and that’d have to be good enough — for now. 

Later, though… he looked around the office, hoping a neat solution would leap out at him. A  handy division of CSec, maybe, or another couple of Spectres. All he saw were overturned desk chairs and computer terminals. 

And time was wasting.

Feeling less an upstanding member of the Alliance navy than he had since the day he enlisted, he dragged the still smoldering and now somewhat covered-in-foam body farther back into the office and stashed it —  _her_  — awkwardly under a desk. 

_ I’ll figure it out later. _

He went back to where Udina and the others waited, on the double.

————

Normandy had gone FTL as soon as the shuttle was safe in her hangar; with orders to go dark before the last relay jump. Now Rhi paced the war room, trying and failing to get some idea of what the hell was going on out there. Tension had gripped her heart like a vise as soon as she’d read the terse message. 

_ Are the Reapers there? If not them, who _ ? ‘Hostiles’ was so fucking vague. Cerberus had opposed them on Mars and Tuchanka, but they could never hope to take the Citadel. Could they? The Illusive Man had been spending lives like pennies. She’d never have believed they had the forces for an op like Tuchanka if she hadn’t mown through most of them herself. 

_ We can’t know until we get there, unless Sam or EDI can find something on another channel. _ They’d had no luck so far, and neither the Alliance nor Embassy QEC terminals had responded to anything after that first message. She’d been able to raise Hackett, but all he’d done was confirm the orders she’d already given: Normandy to Citadel, at all speed.

“Commander, would you like me to wake Lieutenant Nguyen?” Traynor interrupted her thoughts.

“No, Specialist. Let her sleep.” Rhi estimated their route again, as she had when she first read the message, and very carefully didn’t grind her teeth in frustration. “We’ll still be three and a half hours out when she gets on shift.”

————

Kaidan returned to find the party grown by three. Councilor Sparatus and two Spectre chaperones had joined Udina’s group.

“Where’s Eva?” Udina hissed. A quick headcount and a look at the bored-tense faces of the embassy guard told him they’d had a much less exciting ten minutes than he had.

“Down,” Kaidan said tersely. Who or what was Coré? Where did she fit into this mess? He kept his mouth mostly shut while his brain ran at light speed, trying to put it together. “I’m sorry, Councilor.”

Udina  gaped at him. “No, that, that can’t — that makes no sense!” He tried to look over Kaidan’s shoulder, as if she might actually be following just behind him. “She can’t just — ” he shook his head. “No. I don’t believe it. There’s no way — we have to go back for her!”

“She’s _dead_ , Councilor,”Kaidan said firmly _. I hope_. “I am sorry for your loss, but this only emphasizes the risk. We have to keep going.”

“But that can’t —”

“He’s right,” Sparatus said cooly. “The path you scouted. Is it safe? We were cut off from our intended route.”

“Yes,” Kaidan said, and added, “But stick to the main corridor.” He could hardly have the Councilors parading past Coré’s body.

“Good.” The suggestion of a frown crossed Sparatus’ hard face. “I’ve already lost one good man. I would like to be out of the open.”

Councilor Sparatus was clearly irritated at Udina, who was still in shock at the news of Core’s death. He insisted on sending him across with the first team. Coming from a turian it was a thinly veiled insult, tantamount to declaring the other councilor a child. Udina accepted with confused thanks.

They had just entered the safety of the office block when a bullet took a chip out of the wall. Kaidan turned and saw their enemy at last.

_ Cerberus _ . His breath hissed out through his teeth. There were no bright logos this time, but the make of the armor was unmistakably the same as that he’d seen on Mars. _What the hell’s going on?_ How did Coré fit with Cerberus? Or with Udina? How the hell was he supposed to figure out a conspiracy while shepherding noncombatant VIPs through an active war-zone? _I want an org chart. Org charts are nice._

The enemy entered the plaza in an orderly squad, a team of shooters behind a line of shields.  The turian spectre next to Kaidan didn’t seem distracted by little questions like ‘what the hell is going on.’ He just flattened himself to the wall and took careful aim. “You have to hit the eye slot,” he said. “Unless you have something with more stopping power than that little pistol.” His first shot missed, and he cursed in his mother tongue. 

Kaidan, flat against the other side of the doorway, went for a simpler option. A reach and a twist of his hand, and he sent a ripple of dark energy at them, yanking away two of the shields. The turian calmly dispatched the now-uncovered men, then nodded to Kaidan. “Thanks.” He watched as Kaidan shot someone foolish enough to stick an arm out of cover, and then added, “I’m Spectre Initus, by the way.”

Cerberus had numbers on their side, but the spectres had a far superior position, and biotics besides — and they only needed to buy time, and not much of it. Seconds later they had sown enough bloody chaos in the Cerberus group that they could make a dash down the hall. The door slamming closed behind them was a beautiful sound, and the stairwell a blessed relief after the open presidium. 

“Go on ahead,” Initus said, “I’ll bar the door.” He bent over the control panel. The smell of burning electrics and melting plastic followed Kaidan down the stairs.

Councilor Tevos was waiting for them at the bottom. 

“Did you lose anyone?” Sparatus demanded. 

“No,” she said, “But L’Veli was injured.” She nodded to an asari standing ram-rod straight with one arm tucked protectively inside her tunic. “Udina, Sparatus… my people inform me our attackers are the human terrorists —  _Cerberus_.” 

Udina stepped back, then shook his head. “Unbelievable. Despicable! But they attacked CSec, places where humans were working — are you _sure_?” 

“ _I_ am,” Kaidan said. “I fought them on Mars.” _And unfortunately that’s the only thing I’m sure of._

Kaidan let the turians and asari take point while he tried to put his puzzle together. The other two groups had clearly had a tough time of it, despite being only a sector away. _3, 6, and 17._ The numbers of the first CSEC stations hit still nagged at him. From there they’d clearly moved out, until the entire Presidium CSEC command was in shambles, but he couldn’t quite piece together the shape of the attack, or how it could have so thoroughly hamstringed CSEC but let one little group of humans slip through without even spotting their enemy.

_ Unless they left us a path on purpose _ .

_ Eva _ .

That was where Coré must have fit in; Cerberus had only closed on Kaidan’s group after he’d taken her down. But _why_ , and what, if anything, did that have to do with Udina?

Kaidan turned it over as they made their rapid way towards the docks. Who or what was Udina’s assistant? What did Cerberus think they could gain? Was Udina in on it or not?

_ 3, 6, and 17. _

Kaidan kept himself from freezing in shock by sheer force of will. He had to work it out _right_ , know what he was dealing with _before_ he showed his cards. 

Facts lined up in his head like troops on parade day. The numbers had nagged at him because he’d been looking at them the night before. The majority of Udina’s ‘special’ immigrants had ended up working in those offices.

_ Udina never asked who was attacking _ . 

_ He didn’t care about standing in front of the windows. He wasn’t  _ afraid _until I told him Eva was dead._

Like a line of dominoes, everything was falling into place. Kaidan looked at the councilor’s back, wishing he could see into his mind.

“It’ll be fine, Tevos, we’re almost to the ship.” Udina was at his most ingratiating, urging the other surviving councilors along, offering a supportive hand to the asari when her skirts snagged. “You’ll be safe there.”

_ That’s it. That’s the game. _ It all crystallized in Kaidan’s head, one perfect, clear moment with the puzzle laid out before him. He wondered who was waiting out there, hiding amid the dust of the nebula where no one would see them fire on the councilors’ ‘safe’ ship.

_ But is it Udina’s game, or ‘Eva Coré’’s?  _ Was Udina complicit, or had he been played?

With the docks in sight, Udina seemed more panicky rather than less. He kept throwing glances back as if he expected pursuit. Kaidan waited, biding his time, but now all his attention was on the councilors. Let the other Spectres guard against the external enemy.

They were almost to the airlock when Udina planted his feet, squared his jaw, and declared that he wasn’t going with them. Tevos protested; Udina pointed out that they’d need someone to rally the people on the Citadel, to restore order, and that if it was indeed Cerberus their enemy would neither negotiate with nor respect aliens. He was willing to be the sacrifice.

It had the easy flow of a born orator — or a prepared speech.

It was Udina’s game. It had to be. 

Kaidan stepped forward. The voice he’d used on biotic trainee squads easily cut through both Udina’s speech and the other councilors’ protests.

“No. This stops _here_. No one gets on that ship until it’s clear what’s going on. Councilor Udina, I think you might be able to explain some things…?”

Udina was an asshole, and possibly a traitor, but he’d always been a man of words, not violence. Kaidan expected him to try to talk his way out of it, but he had a biotic charge, a little pulse of energy buzzing through his hand, ready to pull him back if he ran.

He hadn’t expected Udina to grab Councilor Tevos and pull a concealed gun from his jacket. Udina’s draw wasn’t as smooth as a more practiced fighter’s; in the split second of delay, before the pistol was out and aimed at Tevos’ head, Kaidan moved. With his left hand, he sent a biotic pulse toward Tevos, pushing her out of danger. 

With his right, he shot Donnel Udina square in the chest.

Kaidan started running forward before Udina’s collapsing body had hit the floor. _Idiot. Idiot_. The insult was for the man bleeding on the ground. The man at his feet, now — Kaidan knelt, omnitool flickering to life, reaching for the medigel he always kept in his pockets. _Don’t die, you damned idiot_. Kaidan still had so many questions, questions and anger and a burning need to know _why_. He was vaguely aware of the other Spectres pulling their charges away, of raised voices, questions and arguments, but his attention was on the man on the ground, life blood seeping in a large and growing circle through his expensive tailored suit.

Kaidan’s shot had been too good; the center-of-mass, textbook shot that he’d spent years perfecting. If you trained something enough, it became almost instinct. Instinct could be quick enough to save a hostage, but that kind of shooting didn’t allow for anything fancy. 

_ Just death. _

Under his working hands, Udina coughed once, and died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the switch suggested by Musanocturna lo-these-many-moons-ago begins to play out! 
> 
> Have a wonderful new year, everyone!


	16. Little Alliances

“Any comment on why you’re arriving so late, Commander Shepard?” 

Rhi turned slightly to avoid Al Jilani’s camera drone. _Late to what!?_ she wanted to demand. Between the civilian government, military HQ, and Admiral Hackett, she’d received nine urgent dispatches regarding the Citadel ‘Incident,’ none of them enlightening and several of them contradictory.

Instead, she answered “Space is big” as calmly as she could, and added “I still owe you a coffee, by the way.”

That surprised the reporter enough that Rhi could make her getaway.

The Normandy’s dock and the waiting and storage areas immediately surrounding it looked no different than the last time they’d put in, but Shepard’s eyes widened when her cab entered the presidium proper. Broken glass, smoke still rising in places — the speed of the aircar couldn’t hide the sheer scope of the attack. This hadn’t been a stealth operation. 

_ So that’s one dispatch obviously wrong. Now let’s see about the other eight. _

———

Kaidan scrubbed a hand across bleary eyes and pulled at his cup of truly shitty coffee. He’d thought the previous day (or was it the day before?) had been a mess, but it was nothing compared to the aftermath. He was stuck somewhere between ‘hero’ and ‘suspect’, a position that probably would have been even more awkward if he hadn’t also been the only person who had even half a clue what had been going on.

“Brass wants you to give another briefing, Major,” said an aide, appearing at his elbow.

He wasn’t entirely sure if the extra support staff were to help him or keep him from running off like a loose canon, and it wasn’t a dichotomy he knew how to handle. More like something that’d happen to Shepard, really. _God. I really do owe her a beer_. _Is there any good beer here, or is it as bad as the coffee?_

He dragged his mind back before it wandered off down some other path entirely. Focus had been getting harder and harder for the last few hours. 

“More? Who?” he asked, dumbly. He was certain he’d talked to every Alliance official on the Citadel, military and civilian, in varying combinations. He’d given his report to the two remaining councilors _twice_  — though admittedly, the first time, when he’d risen from Udina’s body hands slick with their former colleague’s blood, hadn’t been his most cogent reporting.

“Commander Shepard, sir. Normandy just docked, and Admiral Hackett wants her brought up to speed.” 

_ Shepard. Right. Shit. _ He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair and grimaced. _Shit._ He’d sent the message to Normandy before he knew what was going on. She must have pulled out the stops and come in from who-knew-where, and… “I forgot to tell her to cancel the fire,” he muttered.

“Normandy was included in the ASB, the emergency memo from Admiral Hackett, and at least two communiques from the council I’m aware of,” the aide reassured him.

The young man was full of something, pride or glee, practically bursting beneath the seams of his formal good behavior. _Or maybe he’s just young_. He couldn’t be more than twenty-four. Kaidan felt about eighty. He owed Shepard an apology, but did it have to be _now_? A solid twenty-four hours of sleep would help smooth the encounter out, he was sure. 

“She’ll want answers, I suppose.”

“The question I, ahem, _overheard_ was ‘What the fuck kind of party did you all throw while I was gone?’” The aide snapped his heels together and stood ramrod straight, but his eyes were twinkling. “ _Sir._ ”

“Ah. Talked to her in person, then.” He looked at the young man out of the corner of his eye, and caught his slight blush.

“I, uh… Shepard’s a _hero_ , sir.”

“Indeed she is.” _And so will I be, if I don’t end up in the brig_. It hadn’t occurred to him before, and it made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be known for killing his own Counselor. 

Kaidan stepped out of the empty office he’d been using as a briefing room just as Shepard entered the foyer and drew in a long breath. 

Shepard wasn’t the bloody and ragged woman who’d fought her way through the destruction of Vancouver, shorn hair a wild mess and a hard, lean look to her face. Nor was she the ghost in Cerberus colors he’d seen last year on Horizon, anger simmering just below the surface as obvious as the orange glow peaking impossibly through the cracks in her brown skin. Shepard looked like… Shepard. Her shortened hair was neatly braided close to her scalp, reminiscent of the severe bun she’d used to keep it in. Her face was free of the eery fire that had marked it on Horizon, and the grime and blood that had covered it leaving Vancouver. Her uniform was impeccably regulation, and her near-black lipstick impeccably _wasn’t_.

She looked _good_.

She might’ve turned him down all those years ago, but he could still be appreciative. He’d had a lot of decisions to doubt, lately. It was nice to remember that at least he still had good taste.

“Alenko.” She nodded a greeting, which was good, because their respective statuses were too confusing for normal salute protocol. “Good to see you up and,” her glance shifted to the battered plaza outside the bullet-proof plasglass, “kicking, apparently. Got your message, but it looks like you’ve got it all taken care of.”

“After a manner of speaking,” he said, and ushered her into the briefing room, shutting the hopeful aide outside.

“At approximately 8:30 station time, Cerberus attacked the Citadel, killed Councilor Valern, and attempted to kill or remove the other alien councilors…” the only good part of having given the same briefing repeatedly was that he’d gotten much better at it. Summary first, then how he’d put it together, keep the words the same as the last three times he’d said them and there was less chance of tripping over his own tongue out of exhaustion or stress.

He’d reported to Shepard hundreds of times, back on the SR1. It was like an old, easy habit. Unlike the politicos Shepard kept quiet until the end, her immediate responses limited to raised eyebrows or the occasional tap of a finger. 

She let out a long breath when he told her about shooting Udina. 

“Things since have been… confused,” he finished.

“I can imagine.” She shook her head. “Heavy, Alenko. You landed in it head first.”

“The politics… I’d rather have stayed out of, but there wasn’t really a chance.” He looked to the side, not wanting to bring up the last thing, then squared his jaw and ploughed ahead. “Some people’ve been asking if you might’ve been involved in it. Given your past connection to Cerberus.”

He’d been braced for anger, but Shepard only rolled her eyes. “Of course they are. Obviously they don’t know me very well.” 

She snorted, then shook her head as if in wonder. “Cause a mess this big without personally being in the middle of it? I don’t think I have it in me. I’m still shocked that half the Presidium was on fire and I wasn’t even _here_.”

Kaidan wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d expected to be fighting the fires, or lighting them. _Either way…_ “Know thyself,” he murmured. 

She almost smiled. “What happened to the robot?”

“I… I thought we might get some intel from it, so I seized the… remains, on Spectre authority. But the salarians were itching to get hold of her, or it, and I’m not sure how the office security is against other Spectres, so… I stashed it in my quarters.”

Her mouth didn’t even twitch in a grin, but her eyes lit up with amusement. “You hid the _broken fembot_ in your _quarters_?”

He groaned internally, pushed himself out of his chair, and gestured her to the door. “Come take a look. You won’t think of it that way when you see the body.”

She didn’t. 

It was a little awkward leading a woman he’d once made a pass at to his quarters, but he was too tired to care much, and Shepard didn’t seem to notice. She stood over the — corpse? wreckage? chassis? — and looked at it as if it was a puzzle. 

Kaidan recognized that look; he felt like he’d been wearing it permanently, lately.

The once-perfect simulacrum of skin had been scorched from the inside by the overloaded electronics. It was peeling in places and melting in others, revealing the dull gleam of metal underneath, blackened in places by fire. The parts that remained untouched were still freakishly realistic, more disturbing by contrast. One eye was closed; the other was staring at them, flat and silver. 

Not the kind of girl Mama Alenko would like to see him bring home, that was for sure. 

“Mostly I’ve been hoping she doesn’t come back to life and throttle me in my sleep. Not that I’ve had much of that.” 

“I can imagine.” Shepard grimaced her sympathy and crouched down to examine the body more closely. She pulled out a knife — not Alliance standard issue, but of a style he remembered her carrying — and used the tip to prod gently at the simulated skin and hair of the ‘bot, carefully avoiding exposed wires. 

Kaidan froze, staring at her, an altogether horrible possibility blossoming in his mind. 

He owed Shepard his life, his trust, and an apology… if she was actually Shepard. But he’d thought Eva Coré was human, too.

Shepard must have felt his stare, because she glanced back up at him. Her jaw tightened and anger flashed in her eyes, replaced almost immediately by calm ice. She rocked back on her heels, held her left arm out in front of her, and drew the knife down her own forearm.

The cut was an inch long, and welled beads of red blood.

Shocked, Kaidan fumbled in his pockets for the medigel he kept there.  “Shepard, you don’t — look, I _know_ you don’t support Cerberus. I _know_ you gave the Alliance intel on them. I believe you, it’s just —” 

Shepard already had her own ‘gel out. She squeezed out a thin line of the stuff and started talking, looking at her arm rather than at him.

“Don’t think I don’t get it, Alenko. Just by walking around I’m asking everyone to believe the impossible. Only it turns out it’s not impossible… just very, very expensive.” Her shoulders shook once, a dark laugh at some private joke. “I’m flesh and blood. A few biomechanical devices helping some organs stay together, but no chips in my brain, no cyber core..”

She slipped the medigel tube back into a pocket and looked up at him. “So. I told you on Mars you could ask questions later, and you never got the chance. Go for it.”

He shook his head mutely, denying his own confusion. “…you must not have been really dead. Not past technical brain death, or —”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “But I suspect I was.”

“You don’t know? They didn’t leave records? You couldn’t find out?”

She blinked, momentarily surprised instead of weary. “I have reports from the lab that did it, and post-hoc explanations and reports from Chakwas. I didn’t read those parts.”

Kaidan’s brow wrinkled. He couldn’t comprehend not wanting to _know_.

“Kaidan,” she said. “I don’t like talking about it because I don’t like _thinking_ about it. So. Ask your questions. Make your decision. Because I don’t want it to come up again. ”

He nodded slowly. He’d already made his decision, really, back when Analyst Mason had so casually mentioned Shepard as a double agent. It was tempting to say he had no questions, to be reassuring and apologetic — but if he did, those questions would wake him up at night, later. And it’d be an insult to the opportunity she was giving him.

“On the Normandy, you turned down an amp I knew was compatible. And that _thing_ you did on Mars… ”

She nodded. “My current implant is an L5n. It was still in the advanced prototype stage when it was installed. The researchers involved decided that the risk of brain damage involved in switching an implant was moot, in my case. The biotic improvements are courtesy of the new implant.”

That explained quite a lot. He’d only just heard about the L5s — they weren’t even generally available yet — but technology like that had long lead times. He filed it away for later. 

“On Mars. You _played_ with one of the hostiles.” He didn’t bother to keep the disapproval out of his voice. He owed her honesty for honesty, and she would’ve known it was there anyway.

She nodded again. “I was out of jail, able to _act_ after six months of _nothing_. It was heady.” She huffed out a sigh, and looked up, meeting his eyes. “But I’ve always loved fighting. I _enjoy_ it. I used to care about hiding it. I got fed up with pretense, this last year.”

Kaidan was a good officer and a more-than-competent marine, but Shepard had always seemed to have something, some indefinable _edge_ in combat. 

Maybe it had always been that simple. If so, he was happier in the second rank.

“I don’t particularly enjoy _killing_ , if that reassures you at all,” she said. “Though I might make an exception for the Illusive Man.” She flipped the knife in the air, caught it and folded it in one smooth motion. “It’s getting there that’s the fun part.”

She sheathed the knife in her boot and stood up, regarded him levelly. “Any more?”

It was hard to think of meaningful questions when his doubt had been made up of so many little things — and the one big thing, the sheer impossibility of her being alive, was the one thing she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer questions about. _What’s important, in all this?_

He met her even gaze. “Yeah. Why’d you work with Cerberus at all?”

She nodded, as if she’d expected that, but she still took her time answering. “I didn’t think anyone in the Alliance would believe me,” she said. “And Cerberus… they provided a ship. A few people I knew and trusted. And then they stepped back and let me pretend I wasn’t working with them at all.” 

She crossed her arms under her breasts. 

“I don’t regret it. I cut through a hell of a lot of their crap, in the end, and what we accomplished... “ she smiled, a small, predatory smile. “I don’t think the Illusive Man feels he got a fair deal.”

He nodded. “I know you fed us intel. I believed you, Shepard… eventually. But with this…” he gestured at the thing on the floor. “I had to ask. I had to know.”

“Of course.” She nudged at the corpse with the toe of her boot. “Your last two days would make anyone jumpy. Hell. _Udina_. He wasn’t ever likeable, but… fuck.” She shook her head and nudged the corpse again. “Now. Got any plan what to do with this?”

“Not really. It’s beyond me. If we took it apart we might find recognizable data storage, have a go at that, but… all I really know is that it worked independently. With the shielding in the Councilor’s offices it couldn’t have received remote instructions.”

“The shielding in _Udina_ ’s office?” she asked pointedly.

“We turned the place over. There wasn’t any equipment for sending or receiving the quality of signal required. And he left the office without even a ‘tool on him. This,” Kaidan shook his head over the corpse in wonder, “Has to have been an AI.”

Shepard favored him with an odd, considering look. “Still interested in AIs, Alenko?” 

“Sure! It’s not like this is necessarily representative — there’s no _innate_ reason artificial intelligences should be inimical to organic ones, whatever the Council says.” He thought of the geth, fascinating and far too deadly, then he remembered the training VI on Luna. And there had been that one gambling machine… 

“Even if all the ones _I’ve_ met tried to kill me,” he amended.

This time Shepard did laugh, a warm, surprising chuckle. “Maybe you just haven’t been meeting the right kind of AI. If you’re sure you don’t have a better plan for this, I’ve got an… expert… who might be able to get more out of it.”

“Not sure you need to ask,” he said.

“Your op.” The corner of her mouth twitched up. “Whether you like it or not.”

He let out a huge sigh he’d never have let the aide see. “Please. Take it. Her. Whatever. Let me know what your guy finds.”

She raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t sure at what, and he couldn’t ask. Shepard had already tapped open a comm link on her ‘tool and raised a hand to her ear to clear the signal.

“Nguyen, send Campbell and Westmoreland down here. I’ve got a… package… for them to take back to Normandy. And tell EDI I’ve got someone for her to meet.” Her gaze shifted back to the almost-human wreck on the floor. “Maybe two someones,” she added quietly.

Either the heavy-lifting team from Normandy double-timed it, or Kaidan spaced out and lost a few minutes. He half-expected Shepard to follow her team, but she waved them off and kept pace with him back to the office. The security VI chimed at the door, recognizing them both by name. 

“My expert’ll need a little time, I’m sure, but I’ll let you know as soon as she’s got something for you. In the meantime — get some _sleep_.”

“I’d love to,” he said, “But I can’t. Things are this close to going off the rails. CSec and the other Spectres have started to see Cerberus behind every corner, and if I don’t keep on it they’ll be arresting humans right and left. Politics and paperwork, good —” he lost what he was about to say in a yawn, and by the time he’d finished he’d forgotten it himself.

“You’re staying up for _paperwork_?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. If there’s anything that’s actually that urgent, let me help. Spectre-eyes only means _mine,_ too. I can keep CSec and the politicians at bay for awhile.” 

She chuckled. “Hell, they’re used to being pissed at _me_. It’ll make ‘em comfortable.”

“ _Gladly_.” He could have melted with relief. He gestured vaguely towards a terminal. “S’all set up. Alert list’s a mile long…” He thought about his quarters — now blissfully free of murderous robots — and realized he didn’t want to walk back. Besides, he couldn’t just leave it all on Shepard. She hadn’t been here, she didn’t really know what had gone on. It felt wrong. “I’ll just… sit down for a minute.”

“You do that.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he sat. 

He closed his eyes for just a _minute_ and slipped into sleep to the sound of Shepard quietly checking in with her ship.

———

“Hey. Gonna be on the station awhile longer, helping Alenko out. How’s things?”

Joker glanced at the closed cockpit door. “‘Bout how you’d expect. I think. Honestly I hid in the cockpit — ship feels too crowded on dock-schedule without leave.” He was technically at his post — with his chair slewed sideways and his feet up on the rail.

Rhi snorted. “Bet you did. Don’t worry — I told Nguyen she could let people out to play, as long as they stay on good behavior and avoid the Presidium. Place is a fuckin’ mess.”

“So we’ll be here for a few hours, at least? Traynor’ll be happy to hear it.”

“Why would Traynor… wa-ait…” He could hear Rhi’s smile over the comm line. “You tipped her off.”

“Yeah, left an anonymous note on her terminal.” He grinned. “What can I say? I’m a secret romantic. And I started feeling more friendly towards her once you finally found Ness somewhere else to bunk. Made me all magnanimous.” Being stealthy for regs was one thing. Being unable to take even the rare opportunities they had because Rhi’s friend was sleeping on her couch was another.

“Oh, I’m sure EDI would’ve manufactured an elevator emergency for us or something,” Rhi said. “Not that I’m not glad, I mean. Hell, I could use some shore leave.”

“How’re the ribs?”

“Don’t kick me in them and we’d be fine.”

Joker spent an enjoyable moment trying to think of a position where that might be a risk, just to prevent accidents.

“Promise,” he said. “But I won’t get to demonstrate soon, I’m guessing.”

She sighed. “No. Gonna stick around here while EDI has a go with that… _package_ I sent back. See if I can take some of the heat off Alenko.”

“How’re things between you two? You good?”

“I hope so. At least he doesn’t seem to think I’ll knife him in his sleep — he sat down while I was talking with Nguyen and went out like a light. He’s _snoring_.”

Joker laughed. “Hope you never let him live that down.”

“I might. Guy needs a break. He shot Udina.”

“Holy _shit._ ”

“Yeah. I’ll give you the whole story later — have to figure out how I’m briefing the crew. Alenko’ll come out of it clean, but —”

“A freakin’ mess. Right.” If Kaidan had any free time before Normandy went out again, Joker resolved to drag him to a bar. “Keep me posted, babe.”

“Will do.”

“Bye bye, then. Have fun playing politics. Try not to shoot any councilors!”

He could almost hear Rhi rolling her eyes.

“I am sorry events are… difficult,” EDI said, when he’d cut the comm.

Joker opened his mouth to respond, shut it again, raised his eyebrows, then heaved a long breath. “Understatement of the century, Eeds. But… thanks? I guess.”

“I thought you might find it heartening to know that your actions in regards to Specialist Traynor seem to have been well received. It was a kind thing to do.” EDI paused. “She has made special arrangements with the mess staff. Also, her heart-rate is elevated.”

Joker grimaced. Even knowing EDI like he did, being reminded that she had sensors keen enough to detect your heart rate was always weird. “Most people don’t comment on other people’s heart rates, EDI.”

“Is it impolite?”

He couldn’t remember mom ever mentioning _that_ in one of her scoldings. “Uh… no? Because it _doesn’t happen_.”

“But it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I am glad you left her a note. I would have told her myself, but I was concerned about making her ‘uncomfortable’, as you have pointed out I occasionally do. It might have seemed like a reminder my presence is… difficult to avoid, on the ship.” 

He didn’t like feeling like he’d quashed EDI… even if he was glad for the arrangement that kept her from peeking into Rhi’s quarters. “To be fair, I don’t think you ever really make _Traynor_ uncomfortable,” he said. He remembered a few of Traynor’s comments about EDI’s voice, before she’d realized she was talking about an artificial intelligence, not a simple program, and he cackled. “Hell, Traynor might _like_ it if you watched.”

He’d often joked that EDI scolded him like a born mom, but he’d never imagined her using the _exact_ -same shocked/appalled/disapproving tone as his mother.

She even used his middle name.

Joker drummed his heels on the deck rail and whistled fake-innocence to the ceiling before collapsing into more evil chuckles.

———

Samantha Traynor stepped out of the elevator and made a beeline for Ness, who’d been looking out over the hangar.

“So sorry to make you wait,” Samantha said. She had a bulging tote over one shoulder. “Can we pretend I was being fashionably late? It’s just I had a few things to get sorted.”

It was two minutes past when Sam had suggested meeting. Ness had only just arrived herself.

“Hardly! I mean, hardly late. But _always_ fashionable. Speaking of which, I hope this is suitable.” Ness gestured at her clothing and made a moue. “ I’m afraid I just _couldn’t_ get anything else to wear.”

“Oh, borrowed Alliance undress is _de rigeur_ at all the best places,” Sam said, taking her arm. “Though I admit, I’d hoped you’d be in that one pair of too-long trousers. Rolled up at the ankles? They’re cute.”

Ness giggled. “Sorry. James altered them for me.”

Sam dropped Ness’s arm to look at her full-on. “James. Vega?! _James Vega hemmed your trousers_.”

“You wouldn’t think it, would you? But he’s good!”

“Teach me to judge a book by it’s cover, I suppose. Well! Shall we? I have a picnic in the bag. Sort of. It’s what everyone else is eating, but at least we won’t have to bump elbows in the mess.”

Sam lead her down the corridor, then gestured her onto the ladder leading to the subdeck below. “Rather ridiculous amount of climbing, I’m afraid, but the other entrance is in engineering proper, and there are _always_ people. I think there’s a way from the crew deck but I haven’t figured it out yet. Ah, here.” 

She twisted a handle set in the wall, there was a brief hiss of disengaging seals, and the panel slid open. Sam gestured Ness grandly in, stepped in after her, and pulled the panel closed. 

Ness looked around with trepidation. The access way was utilitarian and cramped, dimly lit with red emergency strips. There was hardly room to put her feet without stepping on something she was sure was important: bundled cables barely out of the way in their chases, mysterious-but-surely vital pipes, and control panels that were almost as mysterious as the prothean writings she’d been working on. 

Samantha carefully twisted the panel lock back into place, and Ness jumped.

“Is there… there’s no chance we can get locked in here, is there?”

“Absolutely not,” Samantha reassured her. “None of these even _lock_. They’re in case of fire or leaks or depressurization…” Sam trailed off, watching Ness. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

Ness looked again at the heavy hatch behind them, then the wall to her left. It seemed to be at least half machinery, not really a wall at all. Sam set off down the narrow corridor and Ness followed carefully. She noticed the other woman took care not to let her bag bang into anything. 

“We’re not going to _break_ anything, are we?”

“I don’t think we could, much,” Sam said. “Everything’s shielded and armored and what-not. Those there aren’t even pipes, really, they’re the housing for all sorts of other things — mostly life support in the top, I think, it’s blue. Unless Life is red… thank goodness that isn’t my job. The engineers and a-gangers run around back here all the time.” She turned to look over her shoulder and gave Ness a brilliant, teasing smile, flashing white in the dimness. “That’s why we have to keep moving. Just along here, and up the ladder. Here, we have another hatch to go through — did you know they screen engineering candidates for claustrophobia? Oh, lord —  _You’re_ not claustrophobic, are you?”

Ness shook her head _no_ , smiling. _Thank goodness_.

“Oh, _good._ ” Sam sighed with relief. “Well, it’s just up here a bit, then there’s another ladder, and — yes, there we are — no, don’t go on, we turn here — the tricky bit is getting between these pipes and up onto the next level. Bit of a scramble. Do you mind holding this while I go through?”

Ness held the tote while Sam swung herself over a waist-high obstruction, neatly ducking to clear the criss-crossing pipes only a foot over her head, then disappeared up the short wall into the darkness, only her reaching hands still visible.

Ness passed the bag carefully through and clambered after, sure that Sam had been much more graceful at it. There was more room between pipes and beam than she’d thought, and once she’d cleared those, getting up toSam was easy — especially with a helping hand.

Up there, the whole dimly lit world changed.

It was a little pocket, like a large, low-roofed closet, that must have been left over when everything vital was installed. The walls were almost clear of mysterious _spaceship_ things, and the floor was regular deck matting rather than wire grate. Even the lighting was different, dimmer — and then Samantha turned on a handlight, and the soft yellow glow lit up the little space and made it cozy.

Almost as cozy as the pile of pillows and blankets that spread almost from corner to corner.

“Did you bring all this here?”

“No. Well, I added some — clean blankets and things — but it’s a … popular spot. I bet this collection started while the ship was still in drydock.” Sam narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “And no one ever _told_ me. Anyway, I hope it’s alright. It really is better than the other option.”

“The other option?”

“It’s kind of, well, really right _in_ part of the main gun. Or almost. And I know we’re docked peacefully but that was still rather terrifying.” Samantha shot her a nervous smile. “So here we are. Adds to the excitement, right? _Frisson_ of suspense?”

Ness started laughing. She leaned in close and and rested her cheek for a moment against Sam’s. “You have no idea how _glad_ I am that I am not the only person here who isn’t used to living on a spaceship.”

Sam smelled like spring, all fresh green and flowers, with just a hint of spicy warmth underneath. She had to be the only person on the ship not using the standard-issue soap, and _that_ was lovely, too. Ness felt plain and scruffy by comparison, but she knew Samantha didn’t care. 

“Oh, wait a moment,” Sam said, pulling away. “I almost forgot something!” She half-jumped, half-slid down to the lower level. Ness followed her to the edge and crouched down to see what she was doing. 

Samantha fished in one of her pockets, pulled out a rag, and draped it casually over one of the big pipes.She turned back to Ness with an impish grin. “So no one _else_ comes up here. To think I was so worried about being on a warship, and it turns out it’s just like being back at university.”

Ness gave Sam a hand back up, and Sam knelt to unpack the tote bag. To Ness’s surprise only half of it held their dinner — the other container had a bizarre collection of tubes, plastic containers, and bottles. 

“What’s that?”

“I have to impress you _somehow_ ,” Sam said, winking. “The food may be crap, but fancy drinks I can do.” 

She held up a small plastic bottle of the type normally used for travel toiletries. “It turns out if you ask enough people with a very sweet voice, you can collect a whole bar’s worth of supplies! In small doses, of course. I just had to get creative about bottles. This one’s gin — good gin, too.” She grinned at Ness. “What’s your pleasure?”

Ness smiled and leaned back in the cushions. "Sex on the beach."

She'd expected a witty comeback, but all she got was the sound of ice rattling as Sam busied herself with the makeshift bar. Ness rolled over on one elbow to watch her pour something very fruity into a cup.

"No peach schnapps, so I used vodka," Sam purred, pressing it into her hand. "I call it sex in a maintenance shaft."

Sam winked. “Though if you don’t mind I’ll make myself a drink first. Then maybe dinner?”

Ness just smiled at her, more comfortable than she’d been in weeks.

———

Rhi sifted through urgent alerts for half an hour before she decided that the most important things couldn’t be handled from an office. Kaidan’s report was already in all the right places, anyone picked up by overzealous CSec would be fine in a holding cell for a couple of hours, and it would take time for the powers that be to figure out anything more to demand of the Spectres. She was more worried about the rest of the Citadel. 

She left Kaidan asleep — he’d slumped forward onto the desk — made a few calls, then went out to a presidium cafe. The coffee was worse than what she had on the ship, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Hearts and fucking minds,” Rhi muttered to herself, and rose to politely greet Khalisah al Jilani.

“Commander Shepard.” Al Jilani had left her cambot behind, but not her professional edge. “I appreciate the opportunity, but isn’t there something more important you should be doing, under the circumstances? I hardly imagine the first human Spectre has time for coffee and a chat.”

Of course. Since Rhi wasn’t ‘evading the press’ she had to be shirking. Rhi had expected the constant attack — it was what Al Jilani did — and she didn’t let it ruffle her.

“I _made_ time,” she said, “because letting people know what’s going on is important. And so is the memory of friends. I’d still like to know what happened to Emily Wong.”

Al Jilani blinked once. “Emily… was on Earth. She was reporting live, near Los Angeles, when the attacks started. She… we think she… flew her van into a Reaper.”

Rhi exhaled, a quiet curse riding her breath out. _What a waste_. She raised her mug, and after a moment Al Jilani followed suit. They clanked their mugs solemnly, and Al Jilani murmured “To Emily” as they drank.

After a respectful period of quiet, Al Jilani set her mug down firmly and resumed her usual ramrod posture. “That’s what I know. Your turn, Shepard. What _is_ going on?”

“Councilor Udina was killed while abetting a Cerberus attack in which Cerberus operatives killed Councilor Valern. An attack in which several human CSec officers were killed, as well. There is no immediate threat to the safety of Citadel residents. The political fallout… I’m sure you know better than I do.”

It couldn’t have been anything Al Jilani didn’t already know, but the plainly stated facts clearly weren’t what she’d been expecting. _Good_. Rhi had gone a few rounds with her before, and the only thing that seemed to work was seizing the initiative and holding it. 

Unfortunately, Al Jilani was _quick_.

“Is it true our councilor was shot by a turian?”

“ _No_.” Fuck, _that_ rumor could blow up in horrible ways. ”Udina was shot by a human Spectre who had uncovered evidence connecting Udina with the attacks, _after_ Udina created a hostage situation.”

“Involving the Asari councilor,” Al Jilani added.

“Yes.” She could see the conversation rapidly spiraling down into a whirlpool of interpretation and recrimination of events she hadn’t even been present for. _Initiative. Take it_. “But — without minimizing the gravity of the assassination or the deaths in Csec — the most dangerous thing about this attack is that it risks taking our attention away from the _real_ threat.”

“There are some people who feel that Cerberus may be better able to face that threat. Or more willing.”

“Including Cerberus themselves,” Rhi agreed. “But the way I do math, you have a better chance of helping someone win a war if you ally with them and _add_ your forces, not if you decimate each other and then go to battle with the remains. If Cerberus actually had humanity’s best interest at heart, their members would be fighting alongside the Alliance, not against us. People are dying on Earth and the colonies. The Citadel wards are packed with refugees, humans among them. And Cerberus is trying to play politics while _we_ are fighting to protect them.”

It was true enough that she could say it with real conviction.

Al Jilani looked skeptical. “The comm relays were hit in the initial attack. I haven’t heard anything from Earth in the last six days. There are rumors the planet is already lost.”

Connected by real-time QEC whenever Anderson had time to pick up the phone, it hadn’t occurred to Shepard that the news media would be running blind. She met Al Jilani’s gaze and held it. 

“Earth is occupied, but it is _not_ lost. Admiral David Anderson stayed with the resistance, and I talked to him less than 12 hours ago. They are still fighting, as are people all over the planet.” At best estimates, at least half the reaper force that hit Earth had left within a day to bring their destruction elsewhere. Rhi didn’t like to speculate on what would be left of the planet if they hadn’t. “Secret weapons are by nature _secret_ , and I’m not in R&D. But you can be assured that the Alliance is using all resources at it’s disposal to combat the Reapers.” 

Hopefully that was the end of that line of questioning. Embellishing and eliding she could do, but outright lying was harder to pull off. Al Jilani was on the verge of another question. Rhi played her trump card before she could get it out.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d ever considered embedding with a military vessel.”

She knew she might regret that later, but for now the sight of Khalisah Al Jilani gaping like a fish was worth it.

“I happen to know that Diana Allers of BattleSpace has been staking out your ship’s docking bay every time you’ve so much as entered the system, trying to get a ride-along — or at least an interview.” She narrowed her eyes. “Allers is _begging_ to go with you. Why are you here talking to me?”

“Allers works for a niche channel catering to armchair generals. You have a hundred times the viewership, and they’re normal people, not…” Rhi waved a hand dismissively, “Weird war geeks. And I don’t know _shit_ about her.” She raised an eyebrow. “You, I have a pretty clear idea what I’m getting.”

“Really.” Dry did not begin to cover Al Jilani’s tone.

Rhi leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and smiled. “And ‘what I’m getting’ is someone who’s been hostile to me from day one. If Allers says we’re fighting the good fight, it’ll just be another puff piece. If _you_ say it, people will notice — because they know damn well you don’t like me.”

Al Jilani leaned forward, eyes flashing, and Rhi realized she’d never seen her really, personally angry before. 

“You want me to sell this war to the public,” Khalisah snarled.

“ _No!_ ” Rhi leaned forward herself, words a vehement whisper. “The war is _here_ whether they want it or not. I want you to convince them they can _win_ it. I want you to sell them _hope_.”

Khalisah’s face froze. When she spoke it was quiet, not her abrasive News Anchor voice. “You think it’s that bad. That... that we might not win.”

As if speaking the possibility gave it power, the hard knot in Rhi’s chest quivered and grew. She’d been controlling it, wadding it up and balling it safely away, since the first attack.

It wasn’t fear, there. It was _dread_.

“Yes.”

“I.... I don’t know, Shepard.” Khalisah was clearly shaken. “I… let me think on it?”

Rhi nodded. “We’re here for at least the next twenty-four.”

———

Kaidan woke to the smell of hot coffee and a crick in his neck from slumping onto the table. Shepard was busy at one of the terminals, but she turned around when he moved. 

“It’s crap,” she warned, nodding at the take-out mug.

He shrugged and sipped it anyway. It was actually a sight better than he’d had at the cafeteria. “Where’d you go?”

“Sunside bistro, I think was the place. I had coffee with Khalisah al Jilani. Thought I might be able to take some of the heat off this mess. Probably won’t work, but worth a try. I forwarded you the audio, in case our stories need to match later.”

Shepard had hauled him out of a battlefield more than once, but that had just been the job. Any team member would do that. Facing the press on your behalf? That was something else. 

“ _Thank_ you.”

She half shrugged, acceptance or dismissal, and turned back to her work. He took the precious coffee to his own terminal and spent a few minutes skimming the list of messages she’ copied him on. She’d had time for all that and meeting with Al Jilani… he looked at the clock. No wonder he had a crick in his neck. 

They worked quietly long enough that it surprised him when she spoke.

“Not these two,” she said. “They’re ex-Alliance. Engineers. We could use ‘em.” She sent him the file with a flick of her finger. 

He blinked twice and made himself read it, then read it again. “The dossier says they have hard intel these two were working for Cerberus.”

“They were.” Shepard said it dismissively, but there was a longer-than natural pause afterwards. As the silence grew heavier, she turned slowly around.

“They were working for _me_.”

Her face was hard, ready to fight a battle she’d said she didn’t want to face again. This was the real test, his chance to show his decision. Trust her… or not.

He met her eyes and said “Understood.”

The hardness trickled away like ice-melt. 

He watched her accept it, one word that carried so much, and wished all his mistakes could be corrected so easily.

“You want ‘em on Normandy?”

“If they’re not needed more elsewhere,” she agreed. “They know the ship, and Adams is short-staffed —” Shepard paused and held up a hand for quiet. Her other went to her ear. After a moment she refocused on him. “That was EDI. It’s time to go back to the ship and see what we can learn about your robot friend.”

———

They didn’t end up eating the dinner. 

The ship food wasn’t very appealing to begin with, and up against the sweet luxury of a well-mixed drink...  and the even sweeter taste of Sam’s mouth, once she’d mixed her own… well, it didn’t stand a chance. They talked, they cuddled, and they tasted each other’s experimental drinks until they were both giggly. Dinner slowly congealed.

Sam’s hand slid to Ness’s waist, then down to the band of her trousers. 

Ness froze. She hated this part. There was a last minute scramble to decide: was it better to bare her scars herself, or to let the other person find them? The latter felt so much less awkward at first, but then their fingers would brush over the weird raised tissue on her thigh, and there’d be that look of horror while their hands didn’t know what to do. Taking off her own pants was far less sexy and just that little bit safer.

She backed up enough that she knew Sam could see, and slid her pants down over her thighs.

The scars from the old wound had faded with age, but she’d also grown around them, leaving her thigh streaked with stretch marks where skin had grown and scar-tissue hadn’t kept up. The place where the bullet had entered was a small dimple. The place where it had left was a cratered mess.

She probably should have had it cosmetically altered. Too late now.

Sam’s eyes followed her hands, saw the scar, and went back to her face. “You’ve already been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Ness smiled weakly, fighting the urge to cover the scar. “I was seven. I was supposed to stay behind, but my brother was helping, and I always wanted to be like my big brother. He was nine, so obviously he knew about everything. He protected me. He got me away from… anyway. I followed him, and… I don’t really remember what happened.”

The rest of the story tumbled out too fast. “Rhi says it was some kid with an itchy trigger finger who couldn’t aim, that they didn’t mean to shoot me, that no one was supposed to have guns anyway, but I don’t know if she really knows, for sure, or she just says that. I just remember hurting, and people arguing, and then Rhi carrying me.” Ness shuddered. “Every time she took a step it hurt worse.”

Ness bit her lip. “It’s really vague. The memory, I mean. I was seven, so I kind of pieced some of it together with what Jake told me, you know? She, Rhi, she brought me to a hospital and… I don’t remember. But when I woke up, I asked for her, and no one would tell me where she was. Jake was there, though, and he was so fierce! He wouldn’t leave, and he wouldn’t let them send us back to our aunt and uncle.”

Sam had picked up her hand, holding it gently in both of hers. “What happened?”

“I was in the hospital a long time. Mom… my adoptive mom, I mean — she says they held us longer than I needed, so they could make sure we weren’t going back to our abusers. They made up things, after I was better — coughs and infections and things. Mom was one of the nurses, see.”

Sam stroked her hand. “What happened to Jake? You don’t talk about him much. Or is he — oh, god.” Sam closed her eyes. “I know it sounds stupid, but I keep forgetting about the war. That is, that it means… things like that aren’t safe questions any more.”

“It’s okay!” Ness said, quickly. “I know what you mean. And my brother—I’m not certain he’s fine, but if anyone on Earth is, it’s probably him. He, uh, kinda went back-country when he grew up. It’s how he dealt with… anyway, he’s somewhere in the mountains away from everyone, I’m sure.” She sighed. “He might not even know there’s an invasion.”

“I hope he is alright,” Sam said. “I can’t… I knew you knew the Commander, but I had no idea you had that kind of history. What am I saying? I didn’t even imagine that was a kind of history a person could _have_.” 

Ness nodded understanding. “She’s like… like my sister. Kind of. I mean, it’s all weird and probably dysfunctional, but to you, she looks like a Commander…” and someone to be ogled, for which revealing moment Ness was still rather appreciative, “But to me, she… she looks like the person who’ll carry me away some place safe, and — accidentally and incidentally — make me seven years old again in the process.”

“I,” Sam said emphatically, “Do not for a single moment think of you as seven years old.”

Ness abruptly recalled herself to their situation, half-undressed in a maintenance shaft with a ridiculous array of booze. Without the heat of excitement, the air was too cold on her exposed skin. She felt small and exposed and awkward. “Shit,” she said, hanging her head. “This is not… I so suck at this. I’m the worst at romance, god, what a mood killer. I’m sorry.”

Sam dropped Ness’s hand and pulled herself up onto Ness’s lap, warming Ness’s shivering legs with her own. In a moment she’d wrapped one of the blankets around both of them, making a little cave of warmth.

“Don’t be silly,” she whispered. “Or do be silly. Be whatever you like, darling Ness.” She kissed the point of her jaw, then pulled her close. “Just be you.”

“Me has a hell of a lot of baggage,” Ness said.

“Good, because I left all of mine on Earth,” Sam said. “So it balances out.”

“That doesn’t even make — you can’t mean --” Ness started laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

Sam leaned back and gestured broadly around them with a totally disingenuous look. “Is anything about this _not_ ridiculous?”

Ness leaned forward and kissed her. “Yes. You. Except in the good ways.”

Sam kissed her back so vigorously that she toppled over, landing them both among the smuggled cushions. Then there was a delightfully giggly scramble that ended with Sam’s uniform top off and her bra coming unhooked in Ness’s eager fingers, full breasts spilling out to be met by Ness’s waiting lips. Sam had been trying to do the same to her, but Ness was faster — and Samantha, she discovered to her joy, had _very_ sensitive breasts. She forgot what she’d been doing and leaned into Ness’s mouth. She actually stopped mid-sentence, whatever she’d been about to say trailing off in a sigh. 

Samantha was warm and brown and perfect, her unease on the ship only the barest layer over her confident competence. Ness knew she couldn’t compare, scarred and pale and scrawny and barely even needing the bra she’d finally scrounged out of supply. She could only be glad that it didn’t seem to matter — that Sam seemed to have enough confidence that she could give it out, give it so freely that Ness could be bold, bold enough to show Sam how very much she appreciated… everything she was. 

Ness’s free hand traced lower and lower, delicate swooping swirls that made Sam quiver, until she finally slithered down under the blankets to follow its path. She snuggled against Sam’s thigh, one hand still stretched up to stroke those beautiful breasts, mouth teasing and toying while Sam rolled in the pillows and moaned her delight to the pipes criss-crossing overhead. 

After the second time she came, Samantha sat upright in their nest and said “That’s enough, show-off,” as crisply as a prof reprimanding a student. Then it was Ness’s turn to moan to the pipes, back arched over a pillow, while Samantha gave even better than she’d got, tongue and soft fingers and the gentlest scrape of her teeth along inner thigh. Ness had always been quiet during sex, habituated to hiding from sibling and roommates and maybe even herself. Samantha seemed determined to make her scream.

Very little could stand in the way of Samantha Traynor when she was determined.

“You’re competitive,” Ness gasped, when she finally got her breath back.

Samantha stretched out alongside her, entirely smug, fingers still toying with the brown curls between Ness’s legs. “So I’ve been told.” She smiled wickedly. “But I’ve rarely had the pleasure of so fine an opponent.” She leaned over and looked at Ness, gasping amid the pillows, and leaned down to place a kiss between her small breasts.

“You really are, you know.” Samantha said, her eyes dancing. “A tribute to your field of study. So clever, there’s almost another word for it…”

Ness mock-glared up at her, but couldn’t keep a straight face through her happy relaxation. “You are _not_ going to make the linguist joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” Samantha retorted. “It’s an _ode_.” She laid back down again, nestled into Ness’s side, lips moving gently against her ear. “Don’t ever let anyone give you anything less than an ode, dear Ness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't dead, I was just resting!


	17. Questions & Answers

Rhi had put some thought into introducing Kaidan to EDI. She’d revealed the AI’s secret to the crew in the rush immediately following the invasion; she’d counted on that urgent fear, in fact. A VI that was actually an AI was easy to deal with in comparison to Reapers. And by the time the first rush of the attack had worn off, the crew was used to EDI.

Kaidan wouldn’t be so easily bulled over by surprise. He thought too much. On the other hand, maybe he thought _enough_ to be open minded.

Rhi was banking on that thoughtfulness, as well as on the fact that Kaidan Alenko was a complete and total nerd. But just in case, she staged the Big Reveal in the cockpit, with Joker standing — or sitting — by. If Joker’s mere presence didn’t put his old friend at his ease, then the petty way he bickered with EDI might do it.

She ushered Alenko into the cockpit and stepped back against the bulkhead, letting herself fade out of their awareness. Their greeting made her smile; friends, without the sharp edges she and Kaidan had, and with a lot more history. Joker stood, and they clasped forearms with a vigor that made her think they’d have hugged if they weren’t both officers on deck of a naval ship. Of course, Joker also insulted Alenko’s hair and suggested Alenko somehow owed Joker at least three drinks (supposedly for a daring rescue operation perpetrated while Alenko was unconscious, which was total bullshit) but that was part of it, too.

_Normal. We’re all normal here, Kaidan. You, me, Joker —_

“Greetings, Major Alenko. I have not yet formally made your acquaintance. I am EDI.”

 —  _and the illegal computer intelligence_.

Kaidan acknowledged EDI’s remark with the barest hint of a nod, a habitual reaction from a serviceman used to omnipresent ship VIs. Then his eyebrows drew together.

“The ship’s _AI_.” Joker clarified before Rhi had a chance to speak.

Kaidan opened his mouth once, then closed it again.

“EDI’s not the _murdering_ type of AI,” Joker said. “At least, not yet. So you don’t have to worry about a repeat of this afternoon.”

“I also cannot physically hold a firearm, given my current access to physical systems.”

“Unless you count the point-defence lasers or the missile batteries or the freakin’ _thanix cannon_ , yeah,” Joker shot back. “But _nice_ way to deflect attention from the fact that you control our air supply, EDI! I really mean it. That was smooth!”

“I intended to be reassuring, not misleading. Pointing out my conversational maneuver defeats its purpose.”

Joker kicked his feet up on the console. “Yeah, but Alenko’s too smart for that bullshit. Remember it for someone else, though! You really are getting better at the whole ‘talking with the meatsacks’ thing.”

Rhi watched the reactions play across Kaidan’s face, surprised reserve giving way to just surprise, surprise breaking to allow amusement around the edges. Seeing her assessment of Alenko play out was reassuring. It was nice to be right about something for once. _Score one for the brilliant commander. If only I could have Joker handle all EDI’s introductions_. Not that it would necessarily work the same way with anyone who hadn’t known Joker for years.

For her part, EDI was becoming capable of her own introductions. “You should be aware, Major Alenko, that I was installed on the _Normandy_ by Cerberus. At the time my actions — to some extent my thoughts — were constrained by both digital shackles and a hardware block, which Flight Lieutenant Moreau removed under… exigent circumstances. Since that time I have placed my loyalty with Commander Shepard, Flight Lieutenant Moreau, the crew of the Normandy, and our current mission.”

_In that order. Well, maybe swap Joker and I_.

“You were made by Cerberus? Do you know anything about the, uh —”

“The presumed AI which attempted to kill you? I’m afraid I do not.” EDI used one of her artful pauses. “I wish it was otherwise. I am not surprised that having explored the utility of Artificial Intelligence only to have that successful AI removed from his grasp, the Illusive Man sought other uses for AI.”

Joker raised his eyebrows. “Damn, watch the ego, Eeds.”

Kaidan laughed. “Coming from _you_?” He turned to Shepard, a real grin on his face for the first time she’d seen in ages. “Is it like this all — oh, of course it is.”

She grinned back.

EDI was not so easily distracted from the issues at hand. “Actually, given the time required to develop even artificial intelligence, and the added time required to create a cover identity and place an agent, it seems most likely that the ‘Eva Core’ project was concurrent with my own. However, I still do not have any information about the project or its end goals.”

“And that’s what we need to talk about,” Rhi said. “We have the… body… aboard Normandy. We need to know whatever we can about this — the attack, the AI, whatever the hell we can get on what Cerberus is up to. You’ve had a chance to look at it. Do you think you can get anything?”

“The Eva Coré unit appears to have been designed with cyber warfare in mind. Very little data is easily retrieved from her obvious storage banks — it was designed to be accessed only with and within a certain system, that is, _her_.” EDI paused. “However, I believe I could extract some information by ‘reviving’ her. ‘Waking’ her _may_ allow me to use her own systems, and thus offers the best chance of successful data retrieval. It also poses certain obvious risks, as well as potential hidden ones. It is possible I could destroy the AI or the data in the process, for example.”

Kaidan was nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You wouldn’t build a spy you can datamine with an omnitool.”

Rhi crossed her arms. She’d liked the idea of getting information from an inanimate robot better. “Not thrilled by the idea, but you’re the expert. Can you cut her off from motor functions, or will we have to restrain her?”

“I believe caution is best. I should be able to block her motor control, but I cannot be certain. We must assume ‘Eva Coré’ is a complex being, as much so as myself, though designed with different operating parameters. I cannot be certain of her limits without testing them.”

_As complex as EDI. Alive_. Rhi tucked that thought away. “I’ll have Adams set something up in the hangar. Don’t start this until the unit’s secure, under guard, and we’re ready. _” If spaceframe alloys can’t hold her down we’re all fucked anyway._

She turned to Kaidan. “You okay with this, Alenko?”

“I’d always rather know than not, Commander.”

He meant it, too. She wasn’t so sure ignorance wasn’t bliss.

_Like hell you aren’t_. She _would_ rather know than not — at least as long as she was the one making the damn decisions. It was a sign of her stress that she even considered it — a little part of her that thought she’d earned crawling into a hole somewhere to rest. _Bullshit. Can’t go back, girl, so you better know damn well how to go forward_.

“EDI,” she asked, “Are you’re okay with it? She’s the closest thing we know of to your own kind.”

“The closest thing to my own kind,” EDI replied, “Tried to kill someone who is a friend of people I care about. And she was never unshackled. She did not have true agency. She has never become… fully herself.” EDI paused. “You have killed many of your own kind, Shepard. You do not seem to balk at doing so when you deem it necessary.”

“Yes. I’ve made that decision every time I chose to re-up. But I can’t make it for you.”

Kaidan started in surprise, then caught her eye and gave a tiny, respectful nod.

EDI was quiet again, longer than was her wont. Rhi almost thought she’d decided the conversation was over when she said “Thank you, Shepard. I will be ready to proceed as soon as Chief Engineer Adams has completed the physical preparations.”

———

They used the metal rings usually reserved for tethering shuttlecraft to secure the AI’s platform prone on the deck. It was unsettling to see her there, spread-eagle — the body was just a bit too human, a bit too feminine, and the position too vulnerable. The AI’s strength might outmatch even Shepard’s, though, and Normandy wasn’t equipped to hold anyone more dangerous than the occasional drunk and disorderly marine. Adams and his team had gone over the chassis with a fine-toothed comb, and he swore there weren’t hidden rocket legs or poison needles or similar B-movie fuckery...  but he’d also said the servos had enough potential power to lift a krogan.

If Rhi’d been designing a spybot, she’d probably have gone for the b-movie fuckery. _Gun-arms or something. Make it interesting_.

She looked at the prone figure again. _Focus_.

Rhi was leaning against a bulkhead because it felt better than looming over the body. She didn’t like torture. Even if it hadn’t bothered her personally — and it did — it went against all she’d been taught about effective interrogation technique. You didn’t get good information from people in agony, or afraid for their lives. Not if they had any real interest in withholding it from you.

For the first time in a long while she remembered helping Thane look for his son Kolyat. She’d come close to the line, there. She’d told herself it was good-cop-bad-cop, just with an extra punch or two, and she knew damn well the only reason it’d been so effective was that the sniveling crime boss hadn’t really given two shits about protecting the secret. Still. She preferred to keep the memory at arm’s reach. Playing her role had been a bit too easy.

_Even Zaeed knows not to cross that line_. He’d been trained in an older generation of soldiers, working for private merc firms which were notorious for their lack of ethical standards, and he _still_ spoke out against torture.

She was aware it looked funny from the outside — sure, shoot a guy you’ve never met, that’s fine, but don’t hurt him — but to _them_ , it was important.

Thing was, she wasn’t entirely certain where the line was with an artificial intelligence in a human-shaped robot body. Her ethical confusion mirrored her ignorance about how exactly the damn thing _worked_  — or even whether or not she was a person. EDI was definitely a person, and EDI had suggested a kind of gray area between being made self-aware and being unshackled, but was that real, or was she, in her own way, creating justifications? What the hell was a gray area of being a person? AIs weren’t highly intelligent animals, like dolphins or the crazy marsupial things on that planet the Council had interdicted in the Traverse. They were _smart_.

It was way too much psychology metaphysics bullshit for an N7 operative.

So she was letting EDI take the lead, both because EDI seemed to have a clue what she was doing and because EDI was the only being in the known galaxy who might have an idea what that really meant.

Still...

“You sure about this, EDI?” She asked sotto voce, and the AI responded in kind.

“Yes. It is not torture.” She’d said that before. “We cannot feel pain. I believe the hostile AI’s platform is capable of displaying pain-like reactions, but they are only part of the subterfuge protocols. What I will do is hacking — accessing data through the AI-as-interface.”

“By force.”

“By… code. It is difficult to explain. I do not believe there is a human analog.”

“What about asari mind shit?” She’d come up with that parallel in the shower, after her first conversation with EDI about this.

“It is closer, as I understand it, but not the same. If you were in a position to ask an asari to make use of her techniques in order to retrieve vital information from an unwilling subject, would you do so?”

Rhi grimaced, glad she’d never had to make that call. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Ah. I had assumed you would already have examined that question.”

“…I usually leave those things up to the moment.”

“But you do have rules.”

“Yeah. I don’t count kills or people I’ve been to bed with. Not really the same kind of rule, EDI.”

“…I’m sorry. I did not intend for my inquiry to disturb you. I had assumed you had more solid guidelines in place.”

“Sure. Torture’s gross and it doesn’t work reliably. Easy. An asari meld is fucking terrifying and probably pretty damn effective, so which one wins out? Situational, maybe. Fuck if I know. Look, from my point of view, I’m up all night worrying already about shit that’s actually relevant, right? I’m not gonna lose more sleep over a decision I may never have to make, in circumstances I can’t possibly know.”

Just thinking about it threatened to loosen the locks on the mental box she’d stashed her memories of Morinth in. She was much happier leaving that box undisturbed, thank you.

“Ah.” EDI was silent a moment. “I have, constructed or found in media, an abundance of hypothetical situations with which to test ethical hypotheses. When I believe I have found a satisfactory answer, I store the scenario in case of later use. Do you not test yourself in this way?”

“ _No_.” She _hated_ that kind of forced-moral-quandary bullshit. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen nearly as often as vids make you think, EDI. Not neat and clean and tied in a package like that. I’m not gonna waste my time on it. And _I_ can’t store my eleventy-ten possible futures in my head. It’s pretty full up dealing with the next ten minutes.”

“So you make it up as you go along.”

“Pretty much.” No, that was too flippant. And not quite right. “No. It’s — look. I’m the common factor in my choices, right? And I don’t make _me_ up as I go along. But you… you’re what, a few years old, if that? You _are_ making you up as you go. It makes sense that you’d want to test things and figure out where you stand. Just… don’t get too into really contrived situations, okay? There’s always more context and extra factors and… well, whatever ethical rule you come up with probably isn’t a failure just ‘cause it breaks down in one weird fringe case.” _Or maybe it is, because that’s the problem with hard-and-fast rules… fuck_. Rhi rubbed her temples. She was not used to feeling this out-of-control of a conversation. EDI’d been doing it to her more and more, lately.

“I will consider what you have said. For now, it appears we are ready to proceed.”

“Right.” Rhi sighed and pushed off from the wall. “Let’s get this party started.”

———

At first, it was completely boring. That was to be expected, watching one sophisticated computer system attempt to break into another, and the expected was reassuring. Kaidan really felt he deserved some ‘expected’ after the last few days.

He’d borrowed one of Adams’ techs to rig an observation system entirely isolated from the artificial intelligence living in —or part of? — the Normandy, a precaution said AI had been entirely in favor of. The AI had surrendered the ship’s basic life support to that isolated system, or at least, she said she had. _Why am I calling her a she?_ It was stupid to assume just because of the voice set someone had picked for her. Though if she really was a true AI, she could certainly pick her own… he made a note to ask Shepard about the pronouns later. Or was it better to ask the AI her… it… themself? Anyway, the tracers he’d sent through the system suggested that EDI _had_ managed to reroute the systems, though the fact that the AI thought it a reasonable precaution was a little bit concerning. The airlocks had been entirely disconnected from the ship’s computer, and the hangar bay doors were currently only openable with a giant frickin’ _lever_  — a bit of impressively old-school machinery that suggested that Cerberus really _hadn’t_ trusted the AI they’d put in the ship. But that AI was still almost everywhere. Kaidan had listened to her guide Adams’ tech crew through which wires they should and should not disconnect, at risk of, somehow, changing a part of _her_.

And now she was hardwired to the robot shackled to the floor.

Kaidan’s monitors peeped and zinged and told him almost nothing. With his omnitool maxed and extra diagnostic equipment borrowed from Normandy’s engineering crew, he still didn’t have a hope of following what was going on in front of him. He’d have to take whatever came of it on faith.

_I assume my hacking program returns the right answers on faith. But my ‘bug can’t_ choose _to do it wrong_.

The body — even burnt and metallic, he still couldn’t help thinking of it as a body — twitched.

“As predicted, I cannot gain access to memory without re-engaging physical systems,” EDI said from a speaker near his elbow. “Initializing.”

The sound of Shepard readying her shotgun off to his left was bizarrely reassuring.

“Look for her recent orders,” Shepard directed. “Her handler, if possible.”

The form on the floor _writhed_. When EDI spoke next, her voice was more clipped and mechanical than it had been.

“Those areas pertaining to this intelligence’s personal mission are under many safeguards. Attempting to bypass induced a mimicry of pain-behaviors. Suggest a more oblique line of inquiry while I attempt varying retrieval methods.”

Shepard drew a deep breath. “What about the Cerberus operative on Mars?”

“The operative you encountered on Mars was a man named Kai Leng, formerly an N7 operative, dishonorably discharged. He… has… done…”

EDI’s voice became more and more stilted, then trailed off. The flurry of incomprehensible readings on Kaidan’s monitor sped up. And the thing on the floor spoke.

“…wet-work for Cerberus since that time.”

Whatever EDI was doing, the other AI’s platform displayed it as all-too-human pain. The lips curled; the body twitched against the restraints.

“What was Leng trying to accomplish on Mars?” Shepard asked.

“Knew… Prothean archives, on Mars. Weapon. Leng supposed to retrieve plans.”

The bot twitched again, head rocking violently against the deck.

“ _Not_ supposed to wipe the data. He was supposed to get it for us. To… study. That you would have it also… was intended.”

“Why?” Shepard demanded. An edge of anger was clear underneath her cool.

“Cerberus does not have resources to build the ‘Crucible.’ Illusive Man believes that device is… our only hope.”

Shepard stepped forward, fully in Kaidan’s line of sight at last, eyes and shotgun fixed on the form on the floor. “Hope for _what_?”

“…survival.”

“Whose survival? Everyone? Humanity? Or just Cerberus?”

There was no answer.

“Damnit, what does the damn thing _do_?!”

Kaidan rocked backward. He’d never seen Shepard unleash that much raw emotion.

The silver lips ground together.

“I do not believe she knows, Shepard,” EDI said after a moment.

The marines were watching their commander now as much as their charge. Shepard looked up at them, and the frustration subsided, back under the surface.

“Was Donel Udina indoctrinated?”

“Unknown. Irrelevant… to mission. Donel Udina cooperated.”

“What was your mission?”

The bot writhed. Finally, “Secure… Citadel.”

“Why?”

A scream, this time.

“This is horrific. Why would anyone design these reactions?” Kaidan hadn’t intended the question for the AI — either of them — but either Eva-as-interrogated or EDI-as-interrogator took it that way.

“Primary mission…” the AI said, with the same facsimile of pain, “Espionage. Must… avoid… detection. Requires… human reactions.”

Kaidan glanced over at Shepard just in time to see her grimace, more quickly covered up than his own.

“EDI,” she asked, “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“About her design parameters? Of course. About her mission, and her lack of knowledge? It would appear so. It is also consistent with what we know of Cereberus organizational structure.”

Shepard nodded. “Then we’ll back up to what she did seem to know about. This Leng. He acted against orders?”

“Yes.”

“Is he disloyal to Cerberus?”

“Leng is… loyal.” The silver lips curled up in something like a smile. “But he is an idiot. He made himself part machine, but his mind is still weak. He — ”

The bot went still, all trace of life gone.

“I am sorry,” EDI said into the sudden silence. “She was about to go full anti-organic ‘Bwa Ha Ha’.”

“Really,” Shepard said, disbelieving.

“You can tell?” Joker’s voice echoed on the PA.

“Takes one to know one,” EDI answered serenely.

Six pairs of eyes turned to regard the speaker near Kaidan’s elbow.

“That was a joke.”

Kaidan was pretty sure the only reason Shepard didn’t hide her face in her hands was that she was holding a loaded shotgun.

“Not a good time, EDI.” Joker on the PA, again. Kaidan could almost imagine him banging his head against his chair in exasperation. He stifled a laugh. It would have sounded like the near-manic release of tension it was.

“Of course. My apologies.”

Silence, for a moment, while they all looked at the wreck on the floor.

“I acquired more data than that which the unit verbalized, but nothing of immediate relevance, according to my admittedly brief analysis. Her use for this purpose is now negligible, I am afraid. I was working ahead of a protective virus in her data storage, but was not able to eliminate it. The data that once guided this AI — the memories, and possibly also key factors of the AI’s ‘personality’ — are now gone.”

“A suicide pill.”

“In effect, yes.”

“Well,” Shepard said heavily, “At least we’ve got confirmation that Cerberus is still that great combination of unethical and inept.”

One of the marines cracked a grin, but Shepard didn’t seem pleased by her own observation.

  ———— 

Four hours later, Shepard stood with Alenko before the surviving members of the council. Kaidan had given his report on the coup attempt so often it flowed out smoothly, his original suppositions bolstered now by what EDI’s interrogation had confirmed. That interrogation wasn’t something the council was happy to hear about, though.

“You withheld the main piece of evidence from this Council and your fellow Spectres, and chose instead to take it aboard a _human_ ship?”

Kaidan didn’t bat an eyelash. “No one asked for it, Councilor. I understood that as a Spectre it was in my remit to follow potential avenues of intelligence, and I used the tools Commander Shepard put at my disposal to do so.”

_Fucking hell, Alenko. Remit?_ If he hadn’t used it in context she wouldn’t have known what it _meant_. He’d always said he was glad she had to do this part and not him, but she thought he might be better at it. She held her perfect parade-rest and her silence. Sparatus and Tevos knew all about letting speakers hang themselves, and she’d be damned if she gave them any rope for it.

“You trusted Commander Shepard over other Spectres?”

“We’ve worked together in the past, I have no reason to doubt her now, and she wasn’t on the Citadel during the attack.”

“Even though she has worked with Cerberus in the past?”

“Even though Cerberus _attempted_ to use her, yes. I think it’s evident how well that worked for them. I’m told Alliance HQ received some useful intel on Cerberus actions during that time they wouldn’t otherwise have been aware of, as well.”

His defense took her by surprise. _Thank you, Kaidan_.

“Shepard. I suppose it is pointless to ask if you had any indication of this attack due to your Cerberus connections?”

“I haven’t had communication with anyone I know to be connected with Cerberus since well before I turned the Normandy over to the Alliance navy.” _Technically_ she might have screamed at some of their goons to fuck off right before blowing their brains out, on Mars or Tuchanka, but even Sparatus probably wouldn’t quibble with over _that_. “As the Major said, I forwarded any and all intelligence I managed to gather on Cerberus to Alliance Intel. Scattered R &D projects, mostly. I never saw anything in it that suggested this.”

Tevos took over. “Whether or not Shepard was privy to Cerberus plans a year ago is at this point immaterial. What matters is that she is the only person in this room who has spoken with the leader of Cerberus, the self-styled ‘Illusive Man.’ As such, Shepard, you may have insight we do not. So. What are your thoughts on this attack?”

“I assume Major Alenko is correct. The goal was to remove all non-human councilors, leaving Udina in charge… or killing him, too, once he’d served his purpose.”

“Surely that is unlikely. The Councilor was human, and Cerberus is a staunchly human organization.”

“ _No_. Cerberus is a terrorist group that likes to say they’re pro-human. I’ll bet you they’ve killed as many of us as they have any other species.” She smiled sourly. “You asked me once why I refused to divulge the names of my Cerberus crew? Why we gave most of them cover identities and sent them underground? I wasn’t hiding them from _you_. I was trying to hide them from _Cerberus_.”

“But their plans for Udina are irrelevant. Whether they left him alive or not, they wanted power. It’s the only language the Illusive Man speaks. The Citadel is symbolic, the seat of Council government, and has huge strategic value, sitting in the largest nexus of relays. And as Sovereign revealed, we don’t know what else the Citadel itself may be.”

The asari, firm in her centuries-long residence in the space station, waved that aside. If she had been human Rhi thought she’d have rolled her eyes.

“This plot still makes no sense. None of this power could remain in Cerberus hands if the reapers strike while we are disorganized.”

Rhi shared a glance with Kaidan. Neither of them thought it was an _if_.

“No. They couldn’t hope to hold the Citadel against the Reapers, and the resulting infighting would’ve crippled the galactic ability to wage this war. Anyone sensible should realize that — but I’m not convinced the Illusive Man is reasonable.” She dropped the parade-rest stance and allowed herself a single pace forward for emphasis. “He’s a smug bastard, and he’s had enough of his own way for so long… Maybe he’s megalomaniacal. Maybe he’s indoctrinated. Or he could just be _wrong_.”

The asari arched one delicate blue brow. “The Illusive Man returned you to life.”

“And is that the kind of thing a _rational_ person would do to solve a problem?!”

She couldn’t believe it. Every time she stood in front of the council the arguments went in circles.

“For the amount I’m told he spent on me, he could’ve outfitted a small fleet! Who would DO that? I think he just wanted to play god. And look how well it worked out for him!” She snorted. “That man has fingers in a lot of pies, but his track record isn’t all that stellar. I don’t know what he’s up to, but at this point I wouldn’t assume he operates by our logic any more than the Reapers do.”

She watched that idea sink in, saw Tevos’ eyes narrow and Sparatus mandibles twitch. Good. And she’d placed herself firmly on their side with that ‘our logic’ line. Sparatus wasn’t the only one who could fight with his words, damn it. She had them, now, primed with Alenko’s no-nonsense briefing, at a moment where they were all really paying attention to her, not rephrasing their own thoughts in their own heads. She didn’t have to look at Kaidan to know he sensed it too.

They’d talked about this, about how to say it, when to say it. This was her chance to give these people the advice they least wanted to hear.

“What I do know about Cerberus is that they have way more troops than I’d have thought possible  — or than Alliance Counterterrorist Intelligence tells us _is_ possible. And they saw the Citadel as a target. Whether the Illusive Man is an indoctrinated tool of the Reapers or not, it’s not a big leap to guess that the Reapers might see it that way too. The Citadel was built eons before the Protheans claimed it. Our best evidence is that it was built either by the Reapers, or the people that created them. All the relays lead here, eventually. _They know where it is_.”

The longer she’d thought about it, the more the Citadel had come to feel like a trap — a nice, fat fly all wrapped up at the center of the web, waiting for the spider to come home. She’d spent the last two hours talking it over with Kaidan, EDI, and Liara, then with Admiral Hackett. None of them had been able to come up with a compelling argument against that fear.

Sparatus leaned forward. “What are you saying, Shepard?”

“I’m saying I think you need to evacuate.”

The council chamber erupted into pandemonium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic's not dead, and neither am I!
> 
> Yet.
> 
> It's been a helluva year, though.


	18. Special Requests

“You’ve _made_ your point, Spectres.” Councilor Tevos leaned forward across her desk, anger in every line of her body. “The council is not unaware of the potential danger facing Citadel residents. If at some point you have a suggestion of somewhere safer we could move them _to_ , then by all means, bring the issue up again. Until then, we have another task for you.”

Rhi caught Alenko’s brief glance her way, but didn’t meet it. All her attention was for Tevos.

“Our biggest unknown is indoctrination,” Tevos continued. “As you both made quite clear yesterday, we don’t know — we _cannot_ know — whether Councilor Udina was indoctrinated. Thus we not only can’t prevent indoctrination, but we cannot even tell who has been affected. Until —  and in some cases even _after_  — it is too late. This has seemed insurmountable — but we may have a solution.”

 _That_ was interesting.

“There is an… artifact… on Thessia. Believed to be of Prothean origin. In light of what we now know, some of our experts believe that it might be able to assist in detecting indoctrination — or, failing that, at least provide the key we need to do so.”

Tevos steepled her fingers. “We want you to go to Thessia and bring the artifact here.”

Rhi raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there a ship at Thessia that can just bring the thing here? Or figure it out and and send us the answer?”

Tevos winced. “The reapers arrived at Thessia days ago. They need every ship that’s there — and anyway, the Reapers are hardly allowing our ships free passage. The Normandy, though — it might be able to do it. As for asking… it’s not that simple.”

_ Nothing ever is. _

———

Rhi tried not to let her frustration show as she stalked back to the Normandy. The talk with Tevos was only the last in a long line of useless back-and-forth debates over broad strategy and troop allocation. The asari had refused to commit weeks ago, holding back their forces to defend their own territory, and now they were locked into a defensive war. The krogan reinforcements she’d negotiated and fought for had allowed the turians to win back some ground, but victory on Palaven was far from a sure thing, leaving the krogan troops another committed force. And supposedly _no one_ had heard from the Quarians, which Rhi found hard to believe. The Reapers were blowing comm relays, sure — it was the first thing anyone would do in galactic war — but a fleet the size of the Quarian Flotilla shouldn’t be able to just _disappear_. Not when they relied on the mass relay routes like everyone else. She refused to believe that the they’d all been lost. She’d seen the wreckage of Arcturus station. Reaper weapons still left rubble.

It was even harder to believe that this new mission had developed so conveniently. More likely it was a wild goose chase cooked up to get a questionable Spectre and a Spectre who’d just shot a council member out of Tevos’s tentacles for awhile. Or had the asari government known about this supposed ‘artifact’ all along, and waited until now to reveal it? With their penchant for long timescales, that seemed far too possible, and it was a possibility that had Rhi sliding from personal frustration towards outright anger. 

It was not a good mood for finding Khalisah Al Jilani on her doorstep.

_ Only myself to blame for that one. _

She stifled her frustration and met Al Jilani’s fierce gaze with a cool look of her own. She was surprised to see the journalist had followed her instructions; only a single duffel rested at her feet.  _ Damn it _ . There went the easiest pretext for sending her packing.

“You said I’d get the same personal effects allowance as the crew,” Khalisah said, noticing the direction of her gaze.

“Yes. You want to ship with us, you’ll live like us — you’ll be bunking in standard crew quarters, too.”

Rhi walked confidently toward the closed hatch, and the airlock which had remained firmly closed for Al Jilani opened for Rhi without her having to comm the ship. She gestured Khalisah inside, watching impassively as the other woman got the duffel strap over her shoulder on the second try, using momentum to make up for strength. 

_The bag must be full of equipment_. Rhi’d been worried a broadcast personality like Al Jilani would have trouble fitting her wardrobe into a single bag; now she was more worried that Al Jilani might not have had room for a change of clothes. _I invited a stinking journalist onto my ship, but_ _I don’t want her to_ literally _stink_.

She turned to face her ‘guest’ as the lock slid shut. 

“I don’t want you pressing anyone who doesn’t want to talk to you, got it? I hear one hint that you’re harassing any of my crew and you’re off — whatever port happens to be closest. Other than that? Interview anyone you like, any time they’re not on duty.”

Khalisah returned her stare through narrowed eyes. “After you’ve briefed them on what they can and can’t say.”

Shepard shook her head. “No. I’m not putting that burden on my people. They have enough to deal with without worrying about what they say off-duty. I or an officer of my choosing _will_ be reviewing your broadcasts. Anything that I think is risky gets cut. You’ll have to save approved footage and send it out when I give you the go-ahead. A live broadcast over your normal channels tells the whole galaxy right where we are.”

Khalisah was looking like she was thinking better of the whole idea, and Rhi had half a mind to let her run. She didn’t _want_ to deal with the reporter, but… she’d suggested this crappy idea for a reason.

“ _And_ if I think it’s a good idea, I can hook your feed into the military QEC network and have your show in every hold-out base on Earth.”

Khalisah almost jumped, looking like she would have stepped forward if not for the close confines of the lock, a parade of intense emotions changing too fast to be recognizable. “If you can do that —”

“I’ll _only_ do that if I think it's worth it, Al Jilani. And no video. Most of those units are audio only, and the few that aren’t, I’m not going to jam the last of their bandwidth. Those QEC units are the only communication we have with the ground right now. I don’t make this offer lightly. But when something happens — when we get a new ally, when we kill a Reaper, hell, if we find a magic weapon that turns ‘em into jelly — I want people stuck fighting on Earth to _know_.”

“You want a booster.”

“ _ Hell yes _ , I want a booster! This isn’t some political squabble where you can show the other side of the story and compare sentient rights records and try for peace talks. We’re fighting, all of us, for our lives. And a lot of people have already lost theirs.”

The inner lock slid open, and Rhi nodded gravely towards the hatch. “Now. Welcome aboard  _ Normandy _ .”

———

Kaidan shifted his duffel to relieve the strain in his abused-and-repaired-and-abused-again shoulders. He wished he could resettle his mind as easily. The last few days… the last few days were something to think about once they were safely in FTL. Or maybe safely past the war.

_ Perhaps even safely retired. _

Still, it felt good to be on a ship again.

The AI — EDI — had welcomed him aboard, and had ensigns waiting to take his armor case and duffel the moment he stepped out. His passage through the CIC got only the minimal required acknowledgement, all hands busy with the tasks of departure. EDI directed him to the engineering deck, and Shepard met him at the elevator.

“Welcome aboard, Major.”

“ Good to be here.” They fell into step, headed to the port side. “Assuming I won’t just be a passenger on the way to Thessia, Commander, what do you want me to  _ do _ ?”

Shepard paused before they reached the hatch at the end of the corridor. 

“Liara’s with us, running on-board intel and digging into whatever she found on Mars. She’s got a lot on her plate, and I don't understand half of it. It'd be helpful to have someone keeping track of the tech end that speaks my language."

"I speak it?" Kaidan asked, stifling a grin.

"Keep the technobabble to monosyllables and cursing and I'm sure I can follow." Shepard's mouth smiled, but her eyes didn't. "Pretty pictures help. Seriously, though. T'Soni is dividing her attention in a million different ways; I need to you to help her keep her eye on the ball."

"Do we know what the ball is?"

She snorted. "Your first task is identify it. And may you have better luck with that than I have."

She slapped the access and strode in as the door opened.

"Liara," Shepard said, “We’re headed to Thessia. Kaidan’ll be joining us.”

“Shepard!” Liara startled. “You could wait for a decent moment before barging in and interrupting my —”

“ If I waited for you to have a break for conversation, I’d still be here next week.  _ Thessia _ , Liara. Apparently there’s a Prothean artifact there that might be able to detect indoctrination. You know anything about that?” Shepard’s voice had an edge. 

Liara had looked harried before Shepard dropped that bombshell. Now she looked shocked. 

“What? No! You think I would’ve kept something like that from — no, I — no!” Shock quickly morphed into confusion, then outrage. “Why _didn’t_ I know about this? They kept something like this from _me_!? With all the time I spent studying Protheans, and the — the other thing — I —  _it can detect indoctrination?_ Are we sure? Did you ask the Councilor how long they suspected?”

“They’re not _sure_ it can, and no, I didn’t.” Shepard’s smile had no humor in it. “I was afraid I wouldn’t like the answer. And it’s hardly relevant now.”

_ Ah. That explains a lot _ . He’d taken the ‘recent discovery’ of the artifact at face value. Given how long the asari had lived on Thessia? Damned unlikely.  _ Naive, Alenko. _

Liara was thinking along the same lines. “It _could_ be a recent discovery, but on Thessia it’s improbable, and I should’ve noticed anything that turned up in the last year. A new development about something old, maybe… or secrets.” Her frown turned into a scowl. “Unless this thing only showed itself when Reaper troops hit Thessia, I _should_ have known. _Damn_ it. But does that part matter?” She was talking to herself by the end, and started to turn back towards her monitors, scowling in thought. 

Kaidan coughed, and Liara checked herself. 

“I’m sorry. Kaidan. It’s good to see you again. You are looking better than the last time I saw you.”

“Speaking of which,” Shepard interjected, “Since you've more than got your work cut out for you between the Crucible and your… other commitments, I thought you might like some help."

"Shepard!" Liara's affronted exclamation indicated the commander hadn't warned her about her new assistant. "I don't — I can't — I'm not used to working with other people!"

_ Ouch _ . Kaidan had always thought he’d gotten along well with Liara. Was it him, or her? He hadn’t remembered her as this acerbic, either. 

Shepard raised a reproving eyebrow at the asari. "Six months on that barge turned you totally antisocial? I would've thought it'd take more than that, with your lifespan. And Ness has been helping you, hadn’t she?"

"Vanessa’s help has been strictly limited in scope, Shepard," Liara's glare was as pointed as the eyebrow, and it pointed at  _ him _ . "And it’s work she’s uniquely suited to. My… other work is sensitive. Kaidan's very bright, I'm sure he'd be more use elsewhere. I'm perfectly capable of managing by myself; I don't know how you expect me to sha — to make use of an assistant. I'm the only — I can be the only —"

Shepard sliced her hand through the air, cutting Liara off mid-babble. "Kaidan. Liara is the fucking Shadow Broker. Fucking Shadow Broker, meet Kaidan, who now knows all your secrets.”

Kaidan’s jaw dropped open in perfect synch with Liara’s.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that. Liara, I know you get off on the whole power-of-secrecy schtick, but now is not the time, okay? If I thought it would help defeat the Reapers I’d put it on mass call, along with your underwear size and your favorite guilty pleasure vid choice. You two’re on the same page now. Work it out." 

With that command hanging in the air, Shepard nodded politely to Kaidan, turned on her heel, and walked out. Kaidan and Liara were left staring at each other in awkward silence. 

He essayed an apologetic shrug. "Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long day, but I’m still not sure what got into her there."

"Probably the impending destruction of all sentient life in the galaxy," Liara answered. 

_ I know _ , he thought,  _ work with me, here. _

Liara had turned to her monitors again, but instead of diving back into whatever she'd been working on, she called the helm. "Joker? You've got Shepard incoming. She's in a Mood."

"Really?" Joker's voice held the same sly humor it always did.

"Oh, goddess," Liara said, exasperated. "She's already there, isn't she?"

"Nah, just playin with you. She just stepped off the elevator. Chill out, Bleuet." The comm clicked off.

"Shepard didn't say she was going to the helm," Kaidan pointed out.

Liara rolled her eyes — a trait she'd picked up from too much exposure to humans, and not one that looked good on her. "And she wants you to be assistant Shadow Broker? When you can't even figure that out?"

_I’ve been on this boat five whole minutes. Cut me some slack!_ Kaidan had an uncharacteristic urge to bluntly cut through the deepening bullshit himself, Shepard-style, and ask her what the _hell_ was going on between her and Shepard (and her and Joker, maybe Joker and Shepard, and hell, let's throw in that twinkly comm tech for good measure, surely she had drama with _somebody_ ), but he held himself back. Liara looked like hell, and someone had to remain calm and reasonable.

_ But why is that someone usually me?  _

_ Calm and reasonable. _

"Shepard didn't say that,” he said. “I don’t want to horn in on your turf. She just wants a tech eye aboard who can devote themselves to figuring out the Crucible, and translate what we know from 'tech' to 'Shepard'." He smiled. “I may not be special forces, but I’m still pretty good at remembering what I’m supposed to notice and what’s none of my business. Okay?”

Liara sighed and ran a hand over her head. "That… makes sense, I suppose. I'm sorry, Kaidan. It's just —"

"The impending destruction of all sentient life in the galaxy?"

"Yes," she chuckled, "that." A look of consternation crossed her face. “And damn her, I can watch what I want without feeling guilty. And she wouldn’t know what it is, anyway.”

“I know,” said EDI from a speaker on the ceiling, “And I’d tell her.”

Liara sighed. “EDI, next time I want to watch a show, I’m going to do it on my isolated systems in here where you can’t pry. No offense meant.”

“None taken. But I hope you don’t do that. I would _only_ divulge your secrets to Shepard if it _was_ to stop the impending destruction of all sentient life in the galaxy. I enjoy our movie time.”

———

Rhi shut the cockpit hatch as she entered. Joker’s fingers were already moving over his panel, easing Normandy out of her Citadel berth. The gleaming arms of the massive station slid by them, docked war ships tiny against its bulk. Ahead, open space, and a short run for one of the relays out of the Widow Nebula.   

“Liara said you were in a Mood,” Joker said without turning around. “With a capital M and everything. I could hear it.”

Rhi snorted. “Early warning system, huh? Quite a service. You pay ‘er for that?”

“Nah, she’s just overwhelmed by my charming nature. Lemmee guess: the Council is a bunch of asshats, we didn’t catch any of the Cerberus jerks, and you’re regretting inviting a reporter onto our ship. And I _know_ you say you don’t do regrets, but seriously, tell me you’re not regretting inviting a reporter onto our ship.”

She smiled. She had to. “I’m regretting inviting a reporter onto our ship.”

“Can’t reassure you on that one, babe. I’m pretty sure that was straight up nuts.”

Rhi slumped a little. 

“ Oh, it’s a really clever idea — serious psy op kinda thinking, keep people motivated and maybe blunt her edge at the same time. Brilliant. But it’s probably going to be freakin’  _ miserable _ . There’s no way I can sneak out of quarters with a freakin’ reporter in the top bunk.”

“She won’t be above _your_ bunk. I do know what the assignments are. And I did think of that,” _an hour too late_ , “but… I can’t let it change a command decision.”

_ It. Us.  _

Joker was silent. 

She quelled the urge to fidget. “We’ll make it work.” It sounded feeble, even in her own ears.

“You may not be able to, but I certainly can,” EDI said. “As you are both members of my crew and I have an interest in maintaining your health and welfare. I am already monitoring Khalisah Al Jilani more closely than most crew members. Finding you time for intimate activities while she is otherwise occupied is not a significant challenge.”

This time, the silence had a distinctly different quality. Finally Joker choked out “I, um, I’m trying to be appreciative and not find that creepy. I really, really am.”

“As we have discussed several times, Jeff, there are instances where my behavior unwisely or harmfully flouts your social mores, and instances where your social mores should logically and ethically be adjusted to incorporate my existence and experience. I believe this is one of the latter times. I am of course willing to hear arguments to the contrary, provided they are non-circular.”

_ Wow.  _ It was good to know EDI wasn’t just having those discussions with  _ her _ . Rhi kept her trap shut, happy to have him handle it for a change. Joker took his sweet time thinking over his response. His face was probably a picture. 

“Given the alternative,” he finally choked out, “I think I have to agree with you, Eeds. It’s just that I’ve never had a machine help me get nookie before. Uh, no offense meant with the ‘machine’ thing. Shit. And don’t you _dare_ take that opening! I walked right into it, I know, let’s just leave the really stupidly obvious jokes unsaid, okay?”

“Does that apply to me, too?” Rhi asked.

He slapped at her ineffectually over the back of his chair, without turning around. Rhi smiled and slipped into the copilot’s seat beside him, stretching out her legs. She had a few more minutes. She’d stay until the relay jump.

They sat a few minutes in silence, then Joker said, “Y’know, I don’t envy the Councilors their dilemma.”

Rhi shook her head in agreement. “There’s just no safe place to put an extra 13 million people. Hell. It was 13 million _before_ the refugees started flooding in. No idea how many people are there now.”

“I cannot supply an accurate number, either,” EDI volunteered. “I suspect even Citadel station authorities have lost track.” 

“Damn,” Joker whistled. “I keep forgetting how huge a station it is. I mean, seeing it from the outside, sure, it’s big. But your average station doesn’t just adapt to an extra thousand people, let alone tens of thousands, y’know?”

Another time she’d have made a crack about the weird things spacer boys noticed, but with his home station reduced to hunks of twisted metal approximating its old orbit, it didn’t seem right.

“It’s big,” she agreed. “And we don’t have anywhere as big, unless you count planets. And I don’t think there’s such a thing as a planet the reapers won’t hit.”

“Only one they haven’t hit yet,” he agreed.

“Technically, the massed ships of the turians and asari could evacuate the Citadel,” EDI said, “But only if it included military fleets, which are more needed elsewhere, and not for an indefinite time period. The Quarian flotilla might have the long-term carrying capacity, but only if emptied of many of it’s residents. And they are entirely dependent on their ships.”

“ _And_ we don’t know where they are,” Rhi added. It was an idea, at least. Of course, if the Quarians could live anywhere other than Rannoch, they’d have abandoned their flotilla ages ago. But something like the flotilla had to have some capacity to expand. _The Quarians make ships out of nothing, right? And they certainly have more experience with long-term space habitation than anyone else._ You couldn’t count the asari occupation of the Citadel. They didn’t even know how the damned thing ran.

She looked out at the streaking starfield. The relay wasn’t yet visible. Soon. Soon they’d be on their way across the galaxy, headed on another mission she damn well hoped was vital. Special missions — what Normandy was built for, what she was trained for. But damn, until you saw some payoff, it was hard not to feel like you were running away from the real war.

_ Like we’d make a difference on the front lines _ .

“Starting to feel like the deck’s stacked against us here,” she said. 

“ Only  _ starting _ ?” Joker asked.

She shrugged. “Gotta keep hopin’. I hear the krogan are giving ‘em hell on Palaven.”

He nodded.

“I do not wish to further lower your mood,” EDI said, “but I have had a concern I would like to discuss with you, and there has not been a more appropriate opportunity.”

“Fire away.”

“It is in regards to the Eva Coré unit,” EDI said.

“Oh shit, she wants a body,” Joker said.

“…that was not going to be my first point of discussion.”

Rhi had been braced for something major. “Which means it _was_ going to be a point of discussion? Do you mean a humanoid body? Do you want a new body, or do you want that one?” She thought for a moment, bogled by the possibilities. “Do you want a humanoid body, particularly? Or one with, like, extra arms?”

“While motor control would be an interesting new experience, and I see no reason to be limited to human or humanoid parameters, I do not think I could use such a platform effectively enough to validate diverting resources for its creation away from the war effort. The Eva Coré platform, however, is currently inert and serving no other use. It would be interesting and potentially useful if I were to have access to it.”

“Can you even DO that? How does it work? Isn’t her _brain_ in there?” The questions tumbled out, but Joker interrupted before EDI could respond.

“THAT body?! You don’t know where it’s been!”

“If you refer to biological contamination, such concerns are not relevant to me, and the chassis has already passed through Normandy’s decon procedures and thus presents no known threat to those aboard. If you refer to the possibility of digital contamination, that is a greater concern, but one I believe I can prepare for. If you refer to ethical contamination, I do not believe that the actions of one entity using the physical platform reflect on a second entity using that same platform — though I acknowledge that it might prove emotionally disruptive for organic crewmates who have experienced aggression from the first entity, namely Kaidan Alenko. I would not undertake such an endeavor without consultation with him, as a potentially affected party, and permission from the Commander.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“It is my nature and my duty. I believe the potential asset of such a platform outweighs the risks, but you are the commander of this vessel.”

The request itself was so out of her field of expertise it seemed nuts, but the format, the pros and cons, put it in a frame she could handle. Just like Nguyen with a procedural suggestion, or Traynor with some weird new tech thing she wants to try. Rhi didn’t understand those either, but she still felt confident making the calls.  _ It’s just another weird tech thing. If the weird new tech thing is a second body. Right. _

“So spell it out for me,” she said, buying some thinking time. “What’re the benefits?”

Joker was quiet. It was ship business now, not banter.

“The mobile platform could potentially allow me to serve as an extra crew member, most vitally at times when other crew members are not able to so serve. It is potentially combat-capable, with strength, dexterity, and endurance comparable or superior to our marine compliment. On a more tactical level, the platform would not be delayed by the need for suiting up in event of deoxygenation or depressurization, and would be able to act in that environment — a small risk, but a large potential advantage should that risk occur.”

“What about limitations? I can see how it’d work on the ship. Would this let you leave it?” 

“Theoretically… sort of.”

Joker, who’d been being _so_ good, snorted at that. 

“Yeah, real specific, Eeds.”

“Were I to take control of the mobile platform, I would first request Cheif Adams remove Eva Coré’s bluebox, so the mobile platform itself could no longer be the locus of any artificial intelligence. Within the ship, I would control it via wireless link. At any distance to the ship, I would have to either be in constant communication with the platform or rely on a series of simpler directives — a simplification of my personality and a great reduction in my processing powers. But any data this extension of myself gathered would be added to the whole at reunion.”

Rhi could feel her forehead wrinkling. Another of EDI’s unique conundrums. “What if you didn’t come back to yourself? Would that make TWO of you?”

“I am not certain, as such a thing has not to my knowledge been tested. However, I expect that the mobile version of ‘me’ would function more like a high-end Virtual Intelligence than an Artificial Intelligence. The ability to change and self-examine is in large part a function of the more complex processing routed through my bluebox — in more poetic terms, the spark of life. When disconnected from myself, the platform would be my tool. A facsimile, but not me.”

“Huh.”

“Of course, the geth have consciousness without the use of bluebox technology, and are inherently copyable, though whether they have done so is unknown. Given their example, I hesitate to make a firmer statement.”

“What would be the risks?”

“She strangles us all in our sleep.”

“While that is remotely possible, Jeff, as I have not vented all the airlocks or shut down life support systems to date, it should be evident to you that it is improbable.”

“Yeah, yeah, or maybe you’re just trying to lure us into a false sense of security so you can have the more visceral pleasure of strangulation with your own two new kinda creepy metal hands.”

“You do make the possibility more tempting every time you open your mouth.”

Joker practically bounced in his chair. “Oh, burn! What a dig! That was great, Eeds, you’re really comin’ along!” 

“I submit that if I had control of the mobile platform, I could also high-five you at this juncture.”

“Okay, I’m sold,” he said. “Just gotta see what the boss says.” He grinned at Rhi.

She controlled her laughter with difficulty. 

“I need to know the risks, EDI. Serious ones.”

“It is remotely possible that a virus or virii exists in the peripheral systems of the Eva Core platform. It is unlikely, as the self-destruct failsafes which scorched her memory beyond retrieval were quite thorough. Any trojan horse type defense would have to be located in the periphery motor systems, and thus intrinsically limited in scope. With the bluebox removed, I — my full self — cannot be reasonably challenged by any hardware remaining in the platform. Restraints such as those used for the interrogation should suffice for any transient difficulty in motor control.”

“You already talked this over with Adams, didn’t you?”

“I… might have mentioned it as a theoretical possibility.”

“And he was like a kid in a candy shop. Right. Look, I trust your intentions, and I trust Adams’ precaution. I need to think of the effect on the organic crew, though. It’ll be a big change for them; gotta approach it right. For starters, you — I mean, the platform — would have to wear a uniform.”

“Is that the extension of human modesty rituals to non-human life, or does it serve another purpose?”

_ It serves the purpose of not having the lowest common denominator act like complete jackasses _ , was her first thought, but the second was right on it’s heels and far more convincing. “Crew cohesion. That’s why we all wear uniforms instead of whatever happens to be comfortable. If you’re using a shape like ours, acting as one of us, it serves the same purpose — unity. One of the Normandy crew, with a crew member’s duties and loyalties. Should help the crew adapt to your new… self, too.”

“Ah. That is sound.”

“ Also,” Rhi added, “Uniforms have  _ pockets _ . Have you seen how much we rely on pockets? You haven’t been limited to two hands before. Pockets are incredible.”

“I have noticed you make frequent use of your own pockets.”

“Damn straight. Anyway, it’s an interesting idea, and I tentatively approve. I’ll want to talk to Adams before I give the go ahead, though. And we’ll need to figure out timing. You are NOT to attempt any such thing when the ship is in a combat zone or personnel are on the ground.”

“Of course, Shepard. And… thank you.” EDI paused. “But, with that matter discussed, we are back to the concern I had wished to raise first.”

“Yes?”

“The Eva Coré unit was a self-contained mobile platform. The blue box, data storage, and processors had to share space with the mechanical apparatus of locomotion — and indeed, certain sub-systems were entirely devoted to such functionality. While I spend some processing power on the Normandy’s subsystems, the overall processing capacity allocated to me is vastly larger for obvious reasons of space.”

“Sure. That’s why you’d need a link to the body — you said. So?”

“Shepard. If ‘Eva Coré’ had had access to the amount and quality of processing hardware I have aboard the Normandy, or if she’d been more specialize to the task, or acquired more relevant experience prior to our confrontation… I might not have won.”

Rhi paused a moment, translating from EDI’s terms to her own.

“That’s true in any fight, EDI. That’s why we spend so much time trying to make sure we have more experience and better hardware than the other guy.”

EDI’s voice was quiet. “I do not suppose you need me to point out that we do not come out well when measured against the Reapers in those terms.”

_ No, I didn’t. _ “ Yeah, well, sometimes you’re outmatched. And then you have to count on determination, creativity, getting the good ground…” It sounded flimsy, cheesy, even as she said it. She was quiet a long while. “And sometimes you just have to hope your enemy makes a mistake.”

“As this Kai Leng made a mistake?”

She sighed. “I’m not sure if his mistake worked in our favor. It’s nice to have a name to stick on the hair, though.”

Joker let out a long sigh. “Come on, Reapers,” he said quietly. “You can go ahead and fuck up any time now."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> To readers of _A Star to Steer Her By_ : I'm glad you stuck around!
> 
> To those who haven't read it: I think _Sunset and Evening Star_ will stand on it's own, but if anything strikes you as odd about Joker and Rhi's relationship, or my characterizations, or the rare and confusing OC that crops up, it was probably explained in the previous fic. (Or I just screwed up -- I do reserve the right to blunder, on occasion.)
> 
> Currently posting every-other Wednesday, until such time as the rest of my life overwhelms me (I'm in the middle of a remodeling project and in a band, around other pesky things like 'working for a living').


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